A Face You Have Known
by Kii Reyth
Summary: One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with 6 bucks to his name, Mr. Comatose over there - and the Impossible Girl. Team Free Will reunites and gains a member in order to stop the Darkness, find the Doctor, and save the world. Along the way, Sam finds the girl of his dream, Missy gets up to no good, and it's Crowley vs. Rowena. Guest stars will include the Wayward Girls and Capt. Jack!
1. Chapter 1

_Clara,_

 _I'm so sorry for what I'm doing to you. You've been the greatest friend I could possibly ask for. But there comes a time, in everyone's life, where they have to say 'goodbye.'_

 _For us, today is that day._

 _I can't think about what I'm doing. I just have to do it. Things have gotten rather dangerous lately with Missy running about, and I can't bear the thought of losing you as I already have so many times._

 _Perhaps one day we'll meet again. Until that day arrives, if I'm ever lucky enough for it to, farewell, my Impossible Girl._

 _The Doctor._

Clara stood in shock, the lattes dropping from her hand as she read the letter over and over again after finding it in this exact spot where she left the TARDIS not ten minutes ago, with the Doctor inside.

She wasn't exactly sure where she was. Somewhere in America in present day. Missouri, she thought, but how could she be sure?

It was getting dark, and storm clouds formed overhead. She looked up, the first drop of rain hitting her face, but she didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything, other than . . .

Anger.

Anger and pain swirled in her stomach. He left her? Why? What had she done? Had she said something? Done something? _Why was this happening?_

She looked behind her. The only thing around was a diner and a gas station. Her shoulders slumped as the diners 'open' sign flickered off. The rain came down, steady and beating against her skin. Crumpling the note up and shoving in her pocket, she pulled her hood up and began walked down the road – surely she'd find something eventually.

No cars, no lights, nothing. She patted her pockets, and she felt a feeling of dread. She'd left her phone and wallet in the TARDIS.

No cash. No identification. No phone. No light. Nothing but an empty highway, a vague note, and her tears.

She jumped, startled, when there was a strike of lightening not too far off, hitting a tree. Shuddering as the wind picked up, she turned around, wondering if she could make it back to the diner. Perhaps they'd let her in if she explained her situation . . .

She let out a squeak as she tripped in the pitch black. She landed hard on the ground, feeling her stocking rip as her leg hit the asphalt at an awkward angle. She cursed, looking up at the sky.

"Is this what you want!" she screamed in anger. " _This_?"

The thunder rumbled in response.

She grumbled, standing, and limping down the road. The rain was coming down so hard, she almost didn't hear the rumbling engine behind her, or see the headlights coming up on her.

The car rolled to a stop beside her, and a man about her age rolled down the passenger window. "Hey, you alright?" he called.

"Fine!" she called back, continuing to limp, trying to look as un-pathetic as possible.

"You sure?" the car stayed beside her at a slow pace. "Because, uh, in case you didn't notice, you're bleeding!"

Clara frowned, looking down. There was a long, bloody scrape on her leg where she fell. She hadn't even felt it with all the distraction.

"It's just a scrape!" she called over the rain. "I'm fine."

"Look, let us give you a ride. The nearest town isn't for another twenty miles, at least."

She chuckled humorlessly. Of _course_ it wasn't. How could this get any worse?

She shivered, though, as a gust of air hit her. She wrapped her arms around herself, thinking.

"We don't bite!" the man called.

Clara weighed her options. Either she could keep walking, until she was run over or caught her death, or she could risk getting into the car with a complete stranger.

Well, she'd been in worse situations than a few regular people in an old car.

She nodded, and the car came to a stop. She opened the back door, rushing in, and plopped down on the seat, slamming the door. She rubbed her arms, trying to get warm, and looked up . . .

To find two men who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a _Chippendale_ 's catalog.

"Dean, turn the heater on," the one who'd talked to her earlier said. The driver flipped the heat on, and the other one took his coat off, handing it to Clara. "Here. This should help warm you up."

She cautiously took it, draping it around her and not taking her eyes away, even as the car started moving. The one she'd been speaking to had a kind face and warm eyes, the color of sunshine through amber. His hair was just above his shoulders, also wet but drying.

His companion had short, dark blonde hair, and the greenest, sharpest eyes she'd ever seen. He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, and cranked the heat up.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"No problem," the one in the passenger seat said. "I'm Sam; this is my brother, Dean."

"Hey," Dean greeted her.

"Clara," she said, pulling the coat tighter around her.

"Where are you headed?" Dean asked.

"I – don't know," she said. "I was kinda just . . . dropped off here. It's a long story," she said quickly when Sam raised his eyebrows. "I don't actually know where I am."

"Kansas," Dean said.

"Do you need help? A phone, or something?" Sam asked.

Who would she call? She didn't even know any of her former coworkers numbers. They were all in her phone, on the TARDIS. And she didn't have any cash for a place to sleep.

"I just need someplace to go," she said. "Free. A shelter, or something. I – my money is gone. I don't have a thing."

Sam and Dean shared a look, and a silent conversation it seemed. Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean gave a reluctant shake of his head. Sam gave him a look, and Dean sighed shrugged, giving a little nod.

"Look, our place isn't too far from here," Sam said. "We have plenty of space, food, whatever you need to get yourself cleaned up."

Too good to be true. Could she trust them? They seemed kind enough, but Clara was weary.

But where else would she go? What would she do?

She swallowed, nodding, and Sam gave her a reassuring glance before turning back to look at the road.


	2. Chapter 2

It took about an hour to get to Sam and Dean's place – at first Clara frowned, seeing nothing but a rusty old door in the side of a concrete wall built into what looked like an old, abandoned power plant. She waited as Sam and Dean grabbed their duffles from the trunk and headed to the door, unlocking it.

Clara was shocked at the size of the place. Balconies, shelves of books, a giant table, and what seemed like a thousand hallways.

"You _live_ here?" she asked, wide eyed.

"Home sweet home," Dean said. He led the way down the stairs. "Cas!" he called, dropping his dufflebag on the floor.

A man entered from the hallway, dressed in trousers and a suit and tie, along with a long coat. He had dark, black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was carrying a large pile of books.

"Sam, Dean," he greeted, and then his eyes landed on Clara. He looked confused. "You brought a female."

Sam laughed and Dean rolled his eyes, leaving in search of beer.

"Cas, this is Clara," Sam said, smiling. "Clara, our friend Castiel."

"It's a pleasure," Castiel said, looking like he meant it.

"Likewise," Clara said, looking around.

Castiel frowned, looking at her leg. "You're hurt," he said, setting the books aside. "I can –"

Sam cleared his throat, shaking his head behind Clara.

". . . get some ice for it," Cas finished awkwardly. "One moment." He disappeared into the kitchen.

"He's a bit different, then," Clara said after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Uh, yeah," Sam chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But he's a good guy, really."

"No, I mean, I like different," Clara smiled.

Sam smiled too, and then remembered she was soaked. "Oh! Wow, you must be freezing – there's a bathroom down there, if you want to take a shower, and I think there might be some clothes for you around here . . ."

Clara frowned, and Sam shrugged sheepishly. "Our friend Charlie used to stay over a lot. Some of her old stuff should fit."

"Okay. Well, I do think a hot shower sounds fantastic, so . . ." She slid past him, following the hall and searching for the bathroom. She found it, and locked herself inside, turning the water on as hot as possible. She stripped and sat in the shower, and only then did she allow the tears to flow out of her.

* * *

"What do you think?"

Dean kicked his feet up on the table and opened his beer.

"I think she's in trouble and she's not going to tell us with who," Sam sighed.

"I know with who," Castiel frowned.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Well, not exactly who. But I can tell you this - she has been in space. And through time. She's all . . . wrong. Without my grace, I'd never have noticed, so it's only natural you two didn't. She's tinted with something. I just . . . don't know what."

"Something bad?" Sam asked.

"That would depend on your definition of bad," Castiel began. "I've been watching this world for many years, Sam – I can't keep track of the others. It seems to me that time travelers are a different breed."

"Wait, wait, hold up," Dean said, leaning forward. " _This_ world?"

"Well, you surely didn't believe that this one planet is the only one to support life?" Castiel looked surprised that they didn't know. "The humans, you're just one race of many. Hundreds. Thousands, possibly. However, that's never been my division. Now Hannah, I believe, occasionally had something to do with a planet of beings similar to humans, but now that she is . . . gone, I can't ask her. And the other angels certainly won't talk to me."

"So she's an alien?" Dean asked.

"No, she's quite human."

"What's everyone talking about?" Clara had appeared, drying her hair with a towel. She wore a pair of superhero pajama pants and one of Charlie's shirts.

"Not aliens," Castiel said quickly, and Dean and Sam both groaned.

Clara's shoulders sagged. "You know," she sighed.

"Well, uh, not exactly," Dean said.

"Who are you?" Castiel demanded.

Clara sighed again, sitting down. "My name is Clara Oswald. I'm a school teacher from London – or, I was. A few years ago I met a mysterious man who ended up being a time traveling alien from the planet of Gallifrey." She couldn't bring herself to say his name. "He's called a Time Lord."

"Gallifrey," Castiel said. "That's the world Hannah mentioned."

"So you travel through time with an _alien_?" Dean sounded shocked.

"I . . . I did. He left me." Clara swallowed.

"Why?"

"I don't know," she said miserably. "A few weeks ago I quit my job as a teacher so I could travel with his easier. Maybe that was too much commitment. All I have left is a letter."

"What's it say?"

"Nothing important," Clara said, looking more and more in pain as the conversation went on. "'Goodbye', is all."

"Uh, guys," Sam cleared his throat. He could sense Clara's discomfort. "Clara has got to be tired. How about we talk about this in the morning, after we've all had some sleep?"

Castiel and Dean murmured their agreement, and Sam stood. "Come on. I'll show you your room."

Clara followed him, grateful. "Thanks for that," she said as they walked down the hall.

"No problem. They can be a little . . . overzealous." He stopped outside a door, opening it to reveal a small but comfortable room. Sam had put fresh sheets and blankets on the bed and added new pillows. It was warm in there, and Sam had even put out a pitcher of water and a glass.

"I hope it's alright," he said. "We don't have a lot in the way of clothes or anything . . . but, we can get some tomorrow. I mean, if you want to. If you wanna stay a while. You're welcome to, I mean."

Clara smiled. "Thanks, Sam. Um, one last thing," she said before he left. He turned, raising his eyebrows.

She took a deep breath. "When are you going to tell me about who you and your brother really are?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stood like a deer in the headlights, shocked. He sighed, knowing he'd been caught, and now he'd have to explain. "What gave us away?"

"Besides for the collection of weapons all over your high tech super secret base?" She sat on the bed, and patted the spot next to her. Sam moved off the wall and sat beside her.

"It was Castiel," she said, shrugging with a little halfsmile. "I know how to recognize something not human. So what is he?"

Sam shook his head. "This is going to sound crazy to you. So, you travel the universe and meet different species, right?" When she nodded, Sam continued. "Well, Dean and I, we hunt things. Bad things on earth."

Clara frowned. "Such as . . .?"

"Do you believe in monsters?"

Clara thought back, to the cemetery where the Cyber-Men marched, to the Daleks that tried to kill her, to Missy. She shuddered. "Yes."

"Dean and I were raised to keep the world safe from them. Werewolves, vampires. Demons. But there are all sorts of creatures. Including angels."

Clara frowned. "You're telling me that Castiel . . .?"

"Yeah." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I know it's a lot to take in, and kind of freaky . . ."

"No, not at all. It's a bit . . ." Clara thought for the right word. "Comforting to know that there are higher beings than us, you know? In all my traveling, humans always think they're these invincible, superior things. It's that confidence that draws other species to earth. So to know that we are literally not alone in more than one sense . . . it's nice."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble," Sam began. "But the angels have it out for us. Dean, Cas and I? They hate us."

She frowned. "Why?"

He sighed. "It's a long story. The angels aren't these holy, righteous things. They're as desperate to live as the next species. They don't . . . appreciate humanity."

"But Castiel is different, I think?"

Sam smiled. "Castiel is like a brother to us. He's save our lives so many times, and risked his own to do it."

"Then I'm glad to call him – and you and Dean – my friends." She laughed. "I mean, you did save me from a long, angst filled walk."

Sam laughed. He sobered after a few moments.

"Look," he said. "There are some pretty dangerous things around here – maybe stay out of the dungeon."

"Stay out of the dungeon in the secret base of the Ghostbusters," Clara grinned. "Got it."

Sam smiled, standing. "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall. Dean and I are going on a food run in the morning, but we should be back by noon. Cas will be here."

"Alright. I'll see you in the morning then."

"Goodnight, Clara."

"Night, Sam."

She smiled as she shut the door, worries temporarily forgotten. As she crawled into bed, though, she worried for her Doctor, wondering what she had done that was horrible enough for him to abandon her like this.

* * *

Castiel frowned at the eggs in the pan. They were supposed to be cooking, yes? So why were they still the bright yellow squishy things?

"Morning," Clara yawned as she entered the kitchen.

"Oh, Clara," Cas greeted. "I was making breakfast for you. But the eggs won't cook . . ."

Clara approached the oven, smiling after a moment. She reached over, turning a knob. "You usually have to turn the stove on first."

"Of course," Castiel realized his mistake. "I'm sorry, I don't always quite understand . . ."

"Yeah, well, I guess they don't have a lot of ovens in heaven," she winked as she poured some orange juice.

"Sam told you, then?" he looked relieved. "Good. I was afraid I might slip up."

"No worries, then. Tell me all about heaven."

They sat at the table as Clara ate and Castiel nursed an untouched cup of coffee. He described the different heavens, especially his favorites, and told stories about his garrison. When he began to mention Dean and Hell, though, Clara stopped him.

"Dean was in Hell?" she asked.

"Sam was killed about ten years ago," Castiel began. "And Dean traded his soul to save him. So when the time came, hellhounds were sent to retrieve Dean and took him to hell. However, heaven had other plans, so I was sent to retrieve him. It didn't exactly go according to plan . . ."

Clara didn't know how long the story of the apocalypse lasted. An hour, at least. Her head swam with thoughts of Lucifer and Michael and angels and demons and hell and when he began to talk about Sam's time in the cage, she stopped him.

"I think that's enough for now," she said quietly. "I can't even imagine . . . you sacrificed everything for Sam and Dean. Why?"

Castiel hesitated. "I fell in love, I suppose."

"Oh, I love a good love story. With who?"

"Not who. What. I saw humanity for what it was and I wanted to be a part of it. It's like a flower to me. I was there when this . . . _seed_ was planted, and I watched it grow, and grow, and become a bud. And then, when I came to Earth, when I met Sam and Dean . . ." he shook his head. "It blossomed."

He was shocked when suddenly Clara was out of her chair, her arms wrapped around him in a hug. He didn't shy away, though, as he may have once, but patted her back.

"You're the type of man all men should aspire to be," Clara told him, and Castiel felt an emotion he was he recognized as a mixture of pride and joy.

The door opened, and Clara stood, clearing the dishes away as Sam and Dean entered, loaded with grocery bags.

"Cas, buddy," Dean said, fishing around in a bag and tossing Castiel a jar of something. Cas smiled fondly at it – peanut butter.

Clara helped put the groceries away, and dressed in some of the clothes the boys had brought her. She came back into the kitchen to see the boys arguing.

". . . someone's gotta go with him," Dean was saying.

"Why can't we all three go?" Sam argued.

"Someone has to stay here with her. And besides, we need you for Darkness patrol while we hunt down Metadouche."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam was asking Cas.

"I'm fine, Sam, thank you. Dean and I will be fine."

"Look," Dean said. "It's a quick run. We'll track him down – if we even can – swing by Jody's for the night, and be back before you know it. Alright?"

Sam didn't look happy, but agreed in the end.

"What's going on?" Clara asked as Dean grabbed his dufflebag.

"Dean and Cas are following a lead on this wayward angel thing," Sam said. "But I need to stay and do research – I'll explain it all."

Clara frowned but nodded.

"Come on," Sam said. "We'll grab something to eat before I hit the books."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam drove Clara to a small bar a few miles from the bunker, claiming they had the best steak for miles. There were few people in the bar so early in the evening, but they got good seats. They placed their orders and sat in awkward silence for several long moments. Finally, Clara spoke.

"Castiel told me a lot today."

Sam sighed, knowing where this was going. "How far did he get?"

"I made him stop when he told me about . . . about the Cage."

Sam nodded, thinking as he took a drink of his water.

"You got out," Clara acknowledged.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Without a soul."

"Without a – oh. Oh, Sam, I'm . . .I'm sorry, I didn't . . ."

"It's okay," he assured her. "It's back now, obviously, thanks to Dean. Those, uh, those were some rough times." He cleared his throat. "But I was going to fill you in on what's happening now."

"Yes, please."

He quickly and briefly explained the threat they were facing, the impending darkness and all it's possible doom. He mentioned a child briefly, but their food came, and he left it at that.

"So how do we stop it?" Clara asked, eating a fry.

Sam looked amused. "We?"

"What? I jumped right in," she said. "I have no place to go. No way to get home for a while. So how do we stop it?"

"We don't know yet," Sam admitted. "But we'll find something. I swear."

"You're cute when you're determined," she told him, and he grinned.

"You're cute whenever," he retorted, and she grinned too.

At the end of the night, they made it back to the bunker, and went straight to the books. Clara scanned through several lengthy volumes of curses, and Sam searched the web for anything on the Darkness. Hours passed, and Clara rubbed her eyes, heading for the kitchen. Sometime on the counter caught her eye.

She came back into the main room, placing a full bottle of whiskey and two glasses down on the table. Sam raised his eyebrows. "What's this?"

"A pick-me-up," she replied, pouring some whiskey into the glasses. She handed one to Sam and held her own up. "Here's to good health."

They drank, and Clara refilled their glasses.

"What's this one to?" Sam asked, taking his.

"Good whiskey."

They wasted their night on research and pointless books. Just around three in the morning, Clara was falling asleep at the table when Sam got a phone call. He frowned at his phone, thinking it was Dean at first, but sighing with annoyance when he saw who it was.

"What?" he snapped into the phone. Clara was surprised; she may have only known him two days, but honestly she didn't think Sam had a mean bone in his body.

Sam listened for a few moments. "Does Dean know?"

More listening, and then Sam running his hand over his face. "Where? Yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes. Fine." He hung up, standing.

"Meeting someone this late?" Clara looked at her watch.

"Bit of an emergency," Sam said, grabbing his jacket. "You should probably stay here."

"And miss the action? Not a chance." She was standing, pulling her own new coat on as well. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything against it. He led her towards the garage, and Clara was in awe of the amount of cars lined against the wall.

Sam was getting into an old but well maintained car, and Clara followed, sliding into the passenger seat. She smiled at Sam and he gave a brief smile back before leaving the bunker.

They drove into a small town that was, to be quite blunt, a dump. Houses were crumbling and people argued and wondered the streets. Sam, though, found the darkest spot in town – between two buildings, blocked in with a fence. "Just in case," he told Clara, but she wasn't quite sure what that meant.

"I have to meet with someone here," he said, putting the car in park. "He's dangerous, and we haven't exactly been getting along since, um, ever."

Sam opened his duffel and lifted a Smith and Wesson out of the bag. He checked it before pushing into the small of his back. He also grabbed an odd looking knife, the blade bent like teeth in the steel and with odd script on the side.

"What's that?" she asked curiously.

"Kills demons." He handed it to her, and she took it, looking it over cautiously. Sam looked amused. "Know what, keep that on you. It comes in handy."

"Do you have others?"

"That's the only one like it."

"Where'd you get it?"

Now Sam's look changed to one of discomfort. "Uh," he said, shifting. "A demon kinda gave it to me."

Clara smirked, but sheathed the knife, clipping it to her pants.

"Here," Sam said, handing her a strip of leather with a charm tied on the end. It was an odd symbol, of a star with flames around it.

"A little early to be giving me jewelry," she joked with a grin, but she slid the necklace around her neck.

"It's an antiposession charm," Sam replied in the same smart-alec tone.

"Where's yours?" Clara asked, pushing her hair back.

Sam reached up and pulled his shirt collar down, revealing a tattoo of the exact same symbol.

"Smart," Clara admitted.

"He's here," Sam said, unbuckling his seat belt as he got out. "Stay in the car."

Clara stopped, waited a moment, and then got out, jogging to catch up to Sam.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he grumbled as she struggled to match his long stride.

"You did. But I thought you might need backup."

Sam sighed. "Just . . . don't do anything."

The man they were meeting was only about Clara's height, maybe slightly taller, with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard. He wore a well-tailored suit, his hands leisurely stuck in his pockets. He raised his eyebrows. "About bloody time," he grumbled in an accent not unlike Clara's.

"Traffic," Sam retorted, voice thick and dripping with poison and sarcasm.

The man looked annoyed, and his eyes fell on Clara. He frowned and pointed. "Who's this?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam cut straight to the chase.

Crowley sighed in annoyance. "I thought you'd have Dean with you. Or at least Castiel. You'll excuse me for keeping my distance, but I see no more hex bags in my future, Moose."

"Then shut up and talk."

"It's . . . about the child," the man started begrudgingly.

Sam's eyes flashed. "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing," Crowley said defensively. "But shower her with attention. She's a very hungry little thing."

"What, no catering in Hell?" Sam snorted.

 _Oh_ , Clara thought. _Oh, this man is a . . . oh, that makes sense_.

"You're a demon," she couldn't stop herself from saying.

Crowley turned his attention to her, obviously amused for the moment. " _The_ demon, actually. And might I inquire who you are, love?"

"Clara," she said, and Sam sighed. Why bother with the danger girl, after all? Why did the cute ones always have to be so crazy?

"Pleasure, Clara." He stepped forward, removing his hand from his pocket, and Sam tensed as Clara hesitantly shook it. "Forgive my staring, I'm just not used to our Samantha here keeping such pretty company."

He certainly was charming, that was for sure. "I thought you'd have horns or a, you know." She mimed a pitchfork, and Crowley actually smiled.

"I'm sure I could dig one up if need be . . . for a hunter?"

"School teacher."

"Really?" Something shifted his eyes. "Interesting."

"I can't believe you two are actually having this conversation," Sam said. " _Crowley_ – the kid?"

"Yes, well, as I did say," Crowley said, "She's hungry, and getting quite powerful."

"So feed her."

"Not for food, you bumbling oaf," Crowley looked annoyed. "For souls."

Sam frowned. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"Dean didn't tell you? Oooh, and here comes the drama."

"Doesn't matter. How many has she had?"

"By my count? Several dozen, and she wants more every day."

"You've got one option," Sam said. "And that's to give her to us. There has to be something we can figure out."

"Really? And how is the extensive research on the Darkness coming, Sam?"

Sam shifted his feet and looked away.

Crowley looked smug. "That's what I thought. She's safer in Hell. Up here, anything could happen. The angels could swoop in and smite her, she could go nuclear, or worse, my mother could find out."

"You're supposed to be keeping tabs on her. We have the codex, but she still has the book," Sam warned.

"Well _you_ try following that damn woman!" Crowley exclaimed, looked exasperated. "She's here, she's there, and she's killing my men right and left. I can't spare the time or resources on her right now. So Hell is where Amara stays for the time being."

"Then what do you want _me_ to do?"

Crowley looked annoyed. "I want you to fix this mess you caused!" he snapped. "Find how to contain the Darkness and do it fast!"

"Crowley, you are not my problem," Sam said, very clearly. "If you can't handle something, then it's Hell's problem. Not the Winchesters."

"See, I thought you might say that." Crowley clapped his hands together. "Which is why I've made up a little deal."

"No. I'm not making any deals."

"You don't have a choice this time," Crowley retorted. "Here's my offer. You work on finding something that can satisfy the child and contain the Darkness, or I open the Cage."


	5. Chapter 5

Even Clara could see the quick glimpse of fear in Sam's eyes. It was hardly there, but when it was, it took over his face for a moment. He took a deep breath and scoffed.

"You won't open the Cage," he said. "We both know it."

"You're right," Crowley admitted. "I won't open it - all the way." Now Sam returned his attention to the demon, his eyes suspicious.

"See, funny thing about the Cage," Crowley said, looking smug. "Normally, we can't hear Lucifer – but Lucifer _can_ hear us. Everything we do. Everything _you_ do, Sam. So, were the Cage to open even the _slightest_ bit, just enough to let the tiniest piece of little old Satan out, where do you think he's going to go?"

Sam clenched his jaw.

Crowley smiled. "That's right. Right into your pretty head. And sure, maybe it's not enough to occupy you, or control you, but it would certainly be enough to influence you – I believe you have some prior experience with that?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Crowley –"

"And the best part is," Crowley added, smiling. "No one could fix it. Not Cas. Not Dean. No one. Because this time, it wouldn't just be your over active imagination. It would be the devil actually _in your mind_."

"How dare you." Clara spoke for the first time in several long minutes. "Sam is out there trying to save the world, and you threaten him? He's the only hope in getting this Darkness thing over with, and you're trying to blackmail him into your dirty work? I thought demons would at least have a slight sense of honor, not just cheap shots at old rivals."

"You might want to put a leash on your dog, Moose," Crowley warned. "You know I don't play well with others."

Clara started to step forward, but Sam caught her, pushing her behind him.

"Here are my terms," Crowley started. "You work this Darkness case and you report to me daily on anything you find. You find my mother and you bring her to me. You keep your head down and don't touch my men."

"I can handle Lucifer," Sam said with a slight sneer. "Your demands are bull, and you know it."

"Fine," Crowley said, getting annoyed. "You want more on your plate? How's this - you do this or I'll toss big brother straight back into Purgatory and I swear, this time he won't get out alive. And her, too, if she doesn't learn some manners."

Clara and Crowley glared daggers at each other.

"Fine."

"What?!" Clara whirled on Sam.

"Keep away from Dean, and Clara, and Cas," Sam said. "Keep Lucifer under lock and key, and I'll do it."

"Sam!" Clara cried.

"Sign the dotted line, mate." A contract unrolled from Crowley's hand, along with a pen. Sam sighed, signing the paper. Crowley smiled and rolled it up. "Good doing business with you." And he was gone.

The car ride back to the bunker was long and tense. Clara wanted to say something, but didn't know how. But when they parked and got out, she couldn't help herself.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Clara demanded, voice echoing in the garage.

"You heard him threaten you guys," Sam said. "I made this mess, I'll clean it up."

"You're making it worse!"

"Look, no offense, but you don't know me," Sam said, stopping and turning. "You don't know about me, or my life, or my problems. So I'll call the shots on it."

"I know that you're a good man!" Clara shouted. "You're a _good_ man, Sam Winchester, even if you don't think so. I don't care what you've done. I don't care what you've gone through. I care that someone gave a damn about me when they saw I was in need of help. I care that I wasn't thrown out for being that 'alien girl'. I care that – _mmmff_!"

The end of her sentence was muffled into a shocked silence as Sam swooped down, grabbing her face with his hands, and pulling her into a deep, angry kiss. Clara was shocked at first, eyes wide and furious until she felt how heated and vigorous his lips were as they captured hers. Not willing to be the deer in the headlights, she closed her eyes and parted her lips against his, inviting him to continue but not implying she'd be tame in the matter. Before she could grab him, though, he yanked himself away, stepping back several feet, and the two stood there, breathing heavily from pounding hearts and head rushes.

"What – what uh . . ." Clara started.

"I don't know," Sam said quickly. "I don't know."

They stared at each other for several long moments, and moved quickly at each other at the same time. He took her face in his hands again and she threw her arms over his shoulders, running her hands through his hair as they embraced fervently. He ran his hands down her body and stopped them at a respectful spot on her waist, lifting her onto the hood of the car to access her lips easier. Her leg brushed against him as they desperately reached for each other, holding on for dear life.

Clara's hands crept to his flannel over shirt, working at the buttons.

"Really?" he murmured against her lips, surprised.

"Shut up," she growled, undoing the last button and yanking the shirt off. She twirled her leg around his hip as she grabbed at the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it off him. He finally reached down and brought it over his head, tossing it aside in one swift motion as Clara ran her hands over his chest.

Clara pulled away, yanking her cardigan over her head, and then her tank top as quick as possible, leaving only a simple, purple lacey bra that Sam wouldn't have minded looking at a while longer, but she was determined.

She slid off the car hood, sidestepping to the back door of the car and yanking it open.

"We could go inside –" Sam started to suggest, but she had already unbuckled his belt and was pushing him towards the back seat. She shoved him down and crawled in too, slamming the door behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

Rain drummed against the roof of the Bunker later that day. Clara took soft, smooth breaths in her sleep, her legs tangled with Sam's and her head on his chest. They had relocated to his room to escape the cold of the garage, but she still shuddered slightly, so Sam sleepily reached down and pulled the cover over her. She snuggled back into him, muttering something about space before nodding off again.

Sam had to admit, Clara was amazing. Way better than the girl from the diner, and much more loving. Sam would never tell his brother, but he'd been longing to caress someone, to hold them in their sleep. It wasn't just about sex anymore for him. He was getting older. He wanted something more.

And for some reason, he was starting to feel like Clara Oswald was the perfect 'more' he was waiting for.

Their passion had burned through, turning into something softer, gentler. Making love was so different than sex, Sam thought. He'd only made love with a handful of people – Jess, Madison, Amelia, and now Clara. It felt exclusive and warm and perfect.

 _I haven't even known her a week_ , Sam thought. _How can I feel like this?_

He remembered Jess, though. They had done it the first night they met, had faced several weeks of embarrassment afterwards, and then decided to be a couple. Was that how this was going to work?

 _She's going to leave, though_ , he remember. _Eventually she's going to find her friend and literally fly away. Maybe attachment is a bad idea._

"What are you thinking about?" she muttered, nuzzling against his neck.

He smirked. "You." He ran his hand down her back, gently massaging the small of her back.

"Mm, I would be too," she said, and he laughed. "But really. What's wrong?"

Sam hesitated. He was afraid he'd scare her off if he said anything. "Just worried about this whole Darkness thing, is all," he lied.

"Let me get this straight." She propped herself up so she could look him in the eyes. "You have a naked woman in your bed and you're thinking about _work_?"

Sam laughed, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. He kissed her forehead, and she settled back against him, reaching up to toy with his hair. They just lay there for a while in silence until Clara's stomach growled.

"Hungry?" Sam grinned, sitting up.

"Starved. I hope you know how to cook? Or are you just a pretty face?"

Sam's grin widened. "Dean's the cook, but I can hold my own in the kitchen."

"Not a great answer – I'll cook."

They stood, getting dressed quickly and headed for the kitchen. Clara examined the contents of the fridge before removing the necessary ingredients for spaghetti. She began making the sauce from scratch, and Sam headed into the other room to check in with Dean.

"Not much of a lead," Dean admitted over the phone. Sam could hear Castiel and Claire arguing in the background, and Jody attempting to break it up. "Didn't check out. Holding down the fort okay? How's Clara?"

"Good, good," Sam said. "Great, yeah. Everything is fine."

"Good, great, and fine, huh? Sounds like things are better on your end."

"Yeah, uh," Sam chuckled. "Definitely."

Dean paused. "Dude, did you sleep with her?"

"Uh," Sam swallowed, hesitating. "Yeah," he finally admitted, smiling.

" _Nice_! Aw, man. Not gonna lie. I'm jealous. How was it?"

"Amazing," Sam replied honestly.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Listen, I gotta get going, Claire and Alexis are about to pull the puppy dog eyes on me for a ride to the store and I'm gonna need all my concentration to resist. But listen, Sammy – you kids have _fun_ now."

He hung up, and Sam smiled to himself, before heading back to the kitchen.

The entire room smelled amazing, and Sam came up behind Clara, who was stirring the sauce. He looked over her shoulder. "That smells awesome."

"And it's almost finished. How are Dean and Cas? Did their lead check out?"

"Nope," Sam said, checking on the bread in the oven. "But I'm going to send them a few small things to check out over that way. I'll be right back."

He went to his room, opening his computer and pulling up the cases he had found in their area. He sent them to Jody's email so she could share them with Cas and Dean, and shut his laptop. Before he left, he checked himself in the mirror, shoving his hair back and checking his neck like he did every night, still paranoid about the infection. It seemed to be gone for good, but he couldn't shake the feelings he'd had when going through it.

He smoothed his shirt, and turned to leave, but stopped, frozen with shock.

Rowena was standing in the doorway.

"Date night?" she asked with an innocent smile.

Sam lunged for his gun on the nightstand. Rowena waved a hand and said, " _Descendit_."

Sam felt an invisible force knock him to the ground and hold him there. Rowena smiled again. "Don't worry. I'll be just a minute. _Somno graui excitatum_."

* * *

Clara took everything out of the oven, laying it out and removing her oven mitts.

"Sam!" she called as she busied herself setting the table. She frowned when he didn't respond. "Sam? Dinner."

Her frown deepening, she went to his room, gasping when she found him unconscious on the floor.

"Sam!" she said, falling to her knees beside him and shaking him. "Sam, wake up. Wake up!"

He didn't budge, and she tried pulling him up, feeling his wrist for a pulse, which he thankfully had.

"Oh, god," she said, examining his head for any trauma. "C'mon, please be okay."

"I wouldn't worry too much, darlin'," said a woman's voice from the doorway. "He's only sleeping. He'll be fine."

Clara looked up, finding a tall elegant looking woman with a bundle of bright red hair falling around her shoulders. She wore a dark cloak, and held an odd looking book in her arms.

"Who are you?" Clara demanded. "What did you do to him?"

"A simple sleeping spell," the woman assured her. "He'll wake to nothing more to a mild headache. Maybe a bit more than mild. Alright, _raging_ , but he'll live."

With the word 'spell', it dawned on Clara who she was dealing with. "You're the witch. The one Crowley mentioned, his mum."

Rowena raised her eyebrows. "You know my son? Condolences. He had such a temper, poor wee lad. But I'm a bit more interested in you. I didn't know the Winchesters kept housepets."

Clara stood, nodding at the book. "What's that you've got?"

"Just something that belongs to me. The Winchesters really aren't good at sharing."

"Give it to me." Clara held out her hand, swallowing, trying to decide if she was being stupid or brave.

Rowena looked amused. "I think not." She laughed. "You know, now that I think of it, having the Winchesters out of the way . . . well, now that I have the codex back . . . I suppose I should leave them a little gift." She waved her hand over Clara. " _Dele malum hoc_."

Clara took a deep breath, stepping back as she expected something awful to happen. She frowned, though, looking down and back up when nothing happened.

Rowena looked just as shocked. She tried again, and still nothing happened.

"Right," Clara said, gaining more confidence. "Don't look so surprised. You're not the first mad Scottish woman I've dealt with." She held her hand out again. "The codex. Hand it over."

Rowena made a dash for the hallway, and Clara stumbled around Sam, following.

She caught up the witch in the main entrance, grabbing a gun sitting on the table – thank god for Winchester paranoia – and slid to a stop in front of Rowena.

"Drop it," she said, holding the gun up.

"You're not going to shoot me," Rowena sneered.

"You're right," Clara said. "But he might."

Rowena froze as she felt the barrel of a gun being pressed against the back of her head. She cursed, dropping the book and holding her hands up. "I've got to work on making that spell last longer."

"Yeah, maybe next time," Sam said. He reached up, pulling her wrists down and holding them behind her.

"Oh, tell me you're not taking me back to that damp old dungeon," Rowena complained as Sam pushed her towards the room. "It smells like daddy issues and testosterone. Have you got anything with a view?"

Sam ignored her, making her sit in the chair while he clasped the chains onto her wrists. She examined them, noticing the elaborate carvings in them, and sighed in annoyance.

"Where are you going?" she called as Sam started to leave. "You're just going to leave me here? Sam? Sam!"

Sam shut the door behind him, locking it and checking to make sure all the sigils were in place. Clara stood there, crossing her arms and frowning.

"Will that room hold her?" she asked.

"It held Crowley for a long time," Sam said. "Long story."

"How's your head?" Clara asked as they walked back towards the kitchen.

"I'll live. That was awesome back there, you know," he added. "Most people wouldn't do that. How'd you manage to dodge her magic?"

"I didn't," Clara shrugged, entering the kitchen, checking to see if the food was still hot. She placed it back in the oven to warm up. "It just – didn't work on me. Bounced off."

"Really?" Sam frowned. "I've never heard of that."

"What, is it bad?" Clara asked, frowning.

"It's probably nothing," Sam assured her. "But I'll look into it, just in case."

"Well," Clara said, sitting on the counter. Sam smiled and walked closer, and she slid her hands onto his shoulders. "You can do that later. After we eat. And . . ." She shrugged, grinning a bit. "In the morning."

Sam grinned, leaning down and kissing her.

 **Quick readers poll! Who do you guys want to see with Dean? Are you feeling any certain whovian character, or someone from his own world? Or are you guys going to go Destiel on my ass? Let me know in the comments!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello to everyone reading! Don't forget to hit that follow and review button! And don't forgot to leave your ships in the comments!**

* * *

Sam packed some things in one of his smaller bags, mostly granola bars and a few extra t-shirts, and his dads journal. The same things he took everywhere with him.

"Are you sure you'll be okay here?" he called.

Clara finished brushing her teeth, and brushed her hair out. "Yeah," she replied. "It's not like you'll be gone long. Just a town or two over, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "The guy we get our ingredients and spell stuff from had a shipment come in and I'd better jump on it if I'm going to have to be summoning Crowley a lot. The stuff is kinda hard to come by."

"Then you should get to it before someone else does," Clara said, coming out of the bathroom and buttoning her shirt up. "I'll hold down the fort."

Sam smiled. "I should be back this evening. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Clara walked him to the door, kissing him quickly and waving as he left.

She spent the morning flipping through books, examining the weapons, and fawning over all the historical accounts she found. When she found a log of archived items, she flipped through it for hours, deciding she'd spend her evening in the basement searching for something that could help them.

She gathered the logs and made some tea, balancing two mugs as she made her way to the basement.

Rowena looked up when she entered, surprised when Clara set a cup of tea in front of her.

"What's this?" the witch asked.

"Earl grey," Clara replied, setting the logs down on the other table and looked around at the shelves of items. "I thought you might be thirsty."

Rowena looked suspicious for a moment, but sipped the tea, nodding in approval. "No one makes tea quite like the English," she said.

Clara smiled.

"What are you doing there, lass?" Rowena asked, watching Clara unpack the logs.

"The Men of Letters have so much old stuff laying about," Clara said, opening a book, frowning at it. "But they coded it. It's in Latin."

"Let me see." Clara frowned, but handed the log to Rowena, who scanned the pages.

"Box fourteen A has old journals in it," the witch finally said. "One of those boxes on the shelves, I think."

Clara was suspicious. "Why are you helping?"

"Well, what business do I have with the Darkness?" Rowena scoffed, sipping her tea. " _I_ hardly care if they stop it or not. Besides, if the Winchesters are running around trying to stop it, well, it keeps them out of my hair then."

Clara crossed her arms, looking curious. "You're being kept prisoner in their basement."

"Been there, done it," Rowena smirked. "Oh, they'll hand me over to my son, who will carelessly gloat over how much smarter he is than I. Then he'll slip up, I'll escape, and the cycle will start all over again." She held out her hand. "Let me have those other logs while you read the journals. It'll go faster, darlin'."

Clara reluctantly agreed, laying the box next to Rowena, who stood and flipped through them. Clara pulled down the box form the shelf and found ancient looking leather bound journals. Some had old symbols etched into them, and they were filed with sketches and stories.

Most mentioned demons, in particular one called Abaddon, but others mentioned were named Azazel, Lilith, and Alistair.

The women sat in silence for several hours, nothing but the sound of pages turning. Occasionally Clara would ask what a word meant, and Rowena would reply snarkily, but it was mostly quiet. Clara frowned, though, when she reached the bottom of the box where she found an old metal box with odd marks on it. She stood, walking it over to Rowena.

The witch frowned at it, examining the lock. "They took a lot of precaution with this one," she said. "It's magic. Needs a spell to unlock it."

"Can you?" Clara asked.

Rowena arched an eyebrow, holding up her wrists to remind Clara of the chains. "Of _course_. If you'd be so kind."

"Yeah, no," Clara said, only slightly apologetic. "Sorry. I just really don't trust you."

Rowena smirked. "Smart girl."

"Maybe we could break the lock?"

"No good. It's a magic seal, I said. You need magic to open." She looked thoughtful.

"What?" Clara frowned.

"I can't do it chained like this. But you might be able to. It's a simple enough spell. I could teach you, if you'd like."

Clara was shocked. "You want to teach me how to use magic?"

"Not hardly," Rowena laughed bitterly. "It's a bit more than reciting a spell. You have to have concentration, patience, and a certain aptitude. But if you're truly determined you should be able to do something as simple as opening a lock."

"Okay," Clara said, looking at the box. "How do I do it?"

She felt a buzzing in her pocket, and fished out the phone Sam had given her. She walked a few feet away, answering it. "Sam?"

"Hey," he said, and she could hear the radio in the background. "How's everything?"

"Fine here," Clara said. "Did you get your things?"

"Yeah, and he didn't let me off easy with the price, easy. Is Rowena behaving?"

Clara glanced over her shoulder, watching Rowena examine the box with a deep, thoughtful look on her face.

"Yeah, actually," Clara said. "I found some old logs and brought them down here. They were coded, though, so she translated them for me."

"Don't trust her," Sam warned. "She's sneaky and won't think twice about double crossing you."

"She's still powerless," Clara reassured him. "Just bored, I think. She's not exactly worried about being locked up like this."

"Yeah, she puts on a good show. Just be careful, okay? Don't let her trick you into anything."

"I'll be careful," Clara promised.

"Well, I should be home in about three hours. Will you be okay till then?"

"Course," Clara said. "Be careful."

"One last thing," Sam said, and she could practically hear him grinning. "What're you wearing?"

Clara grinned. "Shut up."

She returned to Rowena, putting her phone back in her pocket.

"Ohh, you're blushing," Rowena observed with a sly smile. "Is someone smitten with the young mister Winchester?"

Clara turned bright red.

"No, it's quite alright," Rowena assured her, setting the box down. "Both of those Winchester lads are quite the strapping young men, and their angel, too. I'll admit to considering an attempt to coax any one of them into my bed many a time. Or maybe all three. Wouldn't _that_ be a treat?"

Clara blushed more furiously than ever. "The, uh, the box?" she asked, clearing her throat.

Rowena was still smiling, but she leaned back. "The spell is relatively simple," she said. "It'll be easier for you to attempt with a clear head. So no fantasizing about Sam, now."

"The spell," Clara urged her.

Rowena sighed, obviously disappointed with Clara's lack of humor. " _Dimittam absconditis tuis_. 'Release your secrets.' Clear your mind of all distractions other than the one thing you want to happen, concentrate. Repeat the words over in your mind until they come to your lips. You don't necessarily have to speak it, but I find it easier to. It allows you to keep some level of concentration. It takes a great deal of willing to use a spell in your mind only. But we'll get to that." She gestured at the box, and Clara took a deep breath. She thought of it opening. _Dimittam absconditis tuis. Dimittam absconditis tuis._

" _Dimittam absconditis tuis_ ," Clara murmured, heart racing as she felt a thrill of finding the contents of the box in front of her, eyes widening in preparation of it opening . . .

And feeling totally let down when absolutely nothing happened.

"What did I do wrong?" She frowned.

"Nothing. Everything. Who knows?" Rowena said lazily. "I told you it's not something people master so quickly. You need to practice." She nodded at the box. "Now try again."

Clara did. And again. And again. And again. Still, nothing happened.

"Don't let your frustration cloud your concentration," Rowena scolded her. "Try again."

An hour passed. Two. She stared at the box, willing it to open, and growing tired of the words she had to recite and the 'clearing' she had to do in her mind. She just wanted the thing to open.

"This is pointless!" she exclaimed, shoving the box away. Rowena looked up from the book she was scanning. "I can't open it."

"You're not trying hard enough," Rowena replied, returning to her book. "Try again."

"I _did_ try again!" Clara exclaimed, annoyed. "Over and over and over again. I'm no witch, I can't just recite a few words and have something happen. I just want the damn box to open!"

There was a soft clicking noise, and Clara froze. Rowena looked up, smirking. "You were saying, dear?"

Clara turned to the box, finding the lid popped. Gently, she lifted it, finding the contents within.

She looked at Rowena, eyes wide. "I did it?"

Rowena simply smiled and stood, looking into the box. Clara took a moment to pat herself on the back. _Good work, Oswald_. Then she dove into the contents.


	8. Chapter 8

Among the contents of the box, there was an odd looking knife with an expensive looking sheath; a thick black velvet pouch; a thick leather journal; an ancient looking bible; a well-worn map; and a ring holding odd looking keys. At the very bottom of the box there were a few pieces of ancient, yellowed parchment, and a smaller box.

Rowena picked up the knife, sliding it from its sheath and holding it up to the light. "Platinum," she said admirably. She frowned. "This has tasted demon blood. And – angel blood." She sheathed it, reading the inscription on the side. "James Winchester. A relative, I'd guess."

Clara rolled the velvet pouch out, surprised to find row after row of vials lined inside, with different names on each one. Some names were in faded red – Abaddon, Alistair, Azazel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Lilith, Sitri. Others were in blue – Ariel, Daniel, Gabriel, Hannah, Lucifer, Metatron, Michael, Raphael, Zachariah. Others were names in black. Elphaba, Katja, Lamia, Olivette, Nadya, Patrick . . . and Rowena.

"What are these?"

Rowena sighed, picking her own vial up. Inside was a long red hair, and an ancient looking piece of cloth. "They're ingredients," she said. "For tracking spells. Things that belong to those named. It seems these Men of Letters were better informed than I initially thought. How they even got this . . ."

Clara frowned, picking up the one labeled Crowley. She opened it, finding a small bone and some dirt.

"Ah, bless," Rowena smiled. "Those are the contents of the first hex bag I ever sent him, back in the old days."

"You sent your son a hex bag?"

"We have a complicated relationship."

Clara replaced the two vials, and Rowena frowned.

"Half these people are dead, and most by the hands of the Winchesters. Abaddon, Alistair, Azazel, Lilith . . . I believe Dean finished most of those off. The angels, I'm not sure about . . . ahh, Katja, that old bitch. Dead. Olivette – dead. Nadya . . . interesting."

Clara rolled the vials back up, gently placing them back in the box. The map had circles and notes written across it, and the journal was in a completely different language.

"This is Enochian," Rowena frowned at the book.

"Can you read it?" Clara asked.

"No. Not fully. Castiel can, or even my son. But it was never anything I concerned myself with."

There were steps down the hallway, and Sam appeared, carrying his bag of ingredients.

"The great Winchester returns," Rowena said wistfully.

Sam glared, and then shifted his attention to Clara. "Any trouble?"

"No, no, but look what we found!" she said excitedly. Sam put his things down, and followed her. He frowned, examining all the vials and papers and keys. "How did you find all this?"

"It was just down here," Clara explained.

Sam flipped through the journal, looking up at Rowena. "You can't translate this?"

"I don't _do_ Enochian," she sniffed.

Clara opened the small wooden box at the bottom, frowning. Inside was an ancient ring, finely crafted in brass and iron, with a hexagram etched into it. Clara lifted the ring, examining it.

Rowena sucked in a breath. "By the gods," she whispered, and she actually crossed herself.

"What?" Clara frowned. "What is it?" She started to slide it onto her finger.

"No!" Rowena grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "You mustn't put that on!"

"Why not?" Clara asked, eyes wide.

"Do you have any idea what that thing is?" Rowena looked excited and fearful all at once, in obvious awe. "That's the Seal of Solomon!"

"The what?"

"No way," Sam said at the same time.

"I don't understand," Clara frowned. "What is it?"

"That ring – it belonged to Solomon," Rowena said. "Made in heaven and given directly to him. Legend says the ring gave him great power – command over demons, the ability to speak directly to other creatures – it possess some of the first and most powerful magic in creation. A demon once wore the ring instead of Solomon and gained control of his kingdom. Whoever possess and wears that ring has unimaginable, priceless power."

"But no one has seen it in thousands of years," Sam added. "I thought it was just a myth."

"Aye, just like you thought angels were a myth," Rowena remarked snarkily. "And trust me, that thing is just as powerful, if not more so, than your little feathered friends."

"It's been down here all this time," Clara frowned. "What would have happened if I had put it on?"

Rowena shook her head. "It won't come off. Not until someone overpowered you and took it for themselves – and that would take a very powerful force. I suppose someone could cut you hand off for it, but even then, it would be connected to you until something came along that was able to control you . . . or kill you."

Clara swallowed. Rowena took the ring, gently, examining it under Sam's close eye.

"You're not going to . . ."

"No," Rowena said. "Oh, no, no, no. There are forces out there much bigger than me, and with that thing on, I'd be hunted down. No, I don't need power _that_ badly. I have my own natural talent." She examined it. "Quite the prize, though. I'd hate to be stuck holding onto this thing."

"Then we should get rid of it," Sam said, reached out to take the ring.

Before he could take it, though, Rowena side stepped, grabbing Clara by the wrist and yanking her back, the ring in one hand and the platinum knife in the other. She held the knife to Clara's throat.

"Don't," Sam said lowly, lifting his hands in surrender. "Rowena, don't."

"I'm not going to hurt your little girlfriend," Rowena promised. "As long as I walk right out of here."

"You're too late," Sam told her. "Crowley's already on his way here. I cleared the way to let him in."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Damn Winchesters," she sneered. "I spend all my time in captivity helping translate and examine dusty old artifacts and you still insist on handing me over to the one you should actually be fighting."

"I don't have a choice," Sam argued. "If I don't do as he says, he's going to open the Cage."

Rowena was shocked for a moment, but regained her composure. "Then let him come," she said. "But damned if I'm defenseless. The chains. Now!" she added, pressing the knife into Clara's throat.

Sam approached, drawing the keys from his pocket and unlocking them. They immediately fell from her wrists, and she backed up, pulling Clara with her.

" _Punctum cultro_ _._ " She stepped away, but the knife remained, poised on thin air inches away from Clara's throat.

"My spells may not work on her," Rowena said. "But I can still send that knife across her throat with a thought."

"Not with a bullet through your head, bitch."

Rowena sighed in annoyance, turning to the door. Dean held his gun up, steadied on her, Cas directly behind him.

"So," Rowena said. "Is everyone so determined to turn me over to my son?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't give a damn," Dean said. "But if you don't sit your ass down and put the knife on the ground, you got another thing coming."

"Better idea," Rowena said. " _Efficacissimis effugium_ _._ _"_

A huge wave of force shot through the room, knocking everyone off their feet and even dizzying Clara a bit from the pressure it caused. Rowena stepped over the books and logs, stepping on Dean's chest. With a wave of her hand, she sent his gun sliding across the floor.

"Where's the codex?" she asked sweetly.

"Eat me," Dean retorted, and Rowena rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, waving her hand over his face. He could feel the air leave him, blood rising up through his throat. He coughed, unable to catch any air.

"Last chance before I move on," Rowena said. "Where. Is. It."

"Up . . . _yours_."

Clara reached out, grabbing Dean's gun. She lifted it, firing off several rounds. Rowena ducked, sprinting from the room and making her escape, Cas chasing after.

Breathing heavily, Clara stood, and she and Sam helped Dean up.

"You good?" Sam asked, examining his brother's face.

Dean spat some blood on the floor. "I freaking _hate_ witches."


	9. Chapter 9

Clara laid a cup of tea in front of Dean, who nodded his thanks and laid a hand on her arm. She smiled back, rubbing his shoulder kindly for a brief moment. Each and every moment she found herself feeling more at home between the glances Sam gave her, the jokes Dean told her, and helping Cas with human things. It was as though losing the Doctor had granted her three of the best friends she could make, all in the matter of a week.

And of course, one who was more than that.

Castiel had come in the door earlier, wet with rain. He shook his head at Sam and Dean, who cursed but didn't pursue Rowena.

"So what's all this with Crowley?" Dean demanded, sipping his tea. He hated the taste, but it soothed his aching throat immediately, and he was suddenly very grateful for the tiny British girl running around the Bunker playing nurse, even if it wasn't in the fun way.

Sam sighed. "It's not really a big deal, I can handle it."

Clara cleared her throat, glaring at him. Sam looked frustrated.

"If you don't tell him," she threatened. "I will."

"Tell me what?" Dean demanded. "Someone, put me in the loop."

"Crowley has threatened to open the Cage," Clara said.

"What?!" Dean and Cas exclaimed.

"Not all the way," Sam sighed, and he quickly explained the situation.

"Purgatory be damned," Dean said at the end of the story. "He wants to dick around with me or Clara that's _my_ problem, I'll keep an eye on her. But letting the devil outta the box is a different story."

"What am I supposed to do, Dean?" Sam asked, suddenly looking very exhausted. "This would be an easy decision for me if I wasn't worried for you."

"Forget that. I'm not scared of Purgatory. You know that. What I'm scared of is Satan taking up residency in my little brother again, you get me?

"Well you won't have to worry about it, so long as he cooperates."

Everyone turned, finding Crowley standing at the end of the table, hands in pockets and eyebrows raised. "So. Where is my dear mother?"

"You son of a bitch." Dean stood, and Crowley lifted a hand. Dean found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

"Spare me the theatrics, Squirrel. I'm _not_ in a good mood. Which means you'd better have something for me, Samantha."

The others looked at each other, trying to find a way to explain.

"You _do_ have something for me?" Crowley suggested.

"She escaped," Clara spoke up. "It was my fault. She tricked me into setting her free."

The demon narrowed his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he sent Dean stumbling backwards, and he slowly approached Clara until he was only a foot away. "You?" he asked lowly. Sam started to stand, but found himself unable to move, and Cas, too.

"Yes," Clara said, unwavering. "It was an accident, but it was my fault. Sam and Dean had nothing to do with it. By the time they showed up, she was gone."

"I see." He reached up, catching her chin with his hand. He turned her head, examining her face, searching her eyes, and Clara shuddered involuntarily but didn't back down.

"You won't last a day in Purgatory," he assured her.

Stepping away, he started towards the door. "Because I'm feeling generous," he said, turning to glance at them. "I'm going to give you one more chance. Fail me again, and I'm going to start getting angry." He snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

They all let out a collective sigh when he was gone, and Clara took a moment to regain her composure. She turned around. "Right," she said with as much false cheerfulness she could muster. "Where do we start?"

* * *

Crowley swiftly moved down the halls, shoving the doors open to his throne room. A few members of his council looked up in surprise.

"Sir," one greeted him, and Crowley incinerated him without a glance.

"Clean that up," he commanded another demon, who bowed and ran off quickly. "You," he snapped at a young, frightened demon. "What's your name? Never mind – I don't care. I have a little task for you."

"Y-yes sir," the demon stuttered. "Anything, my king."

"I've just had an encounter with the Winchesters and something caught my eye. Two somethings, actually. Firstly, they had a certain familiar looking ring sitting about. It had a hexagram etched into it. I'm sure I've seen it, but I'm not sure where. Find out what it is."

"Yes sir."

"And second. Find out everything you can about Clara Oswald. I want everything on her. And prepare a few men." He sat in his throne, grabbing a file. "I want both of those things in my possession within the week."

* * *

"You are insane. You know that? Actually crazy!"

Sam paced the room, running a hand through his hair. "As if he isn't pissed off enough," he complained. "You go and make it look like it's your fault. Crazy!"

Clara glared from where she sat on the bed, watching him pace. "If he thought it was your fault, he'd have that cage open and you'd be wrestling with the devil," she argued, and all Sam could think of was how much she was starting to sound like Dean - and the sheer horror of it. "I got us a second chance. I think a simple 'thank you, Clara' will suffice."

" _Thank_ you?" he laughed humorlessly. "I oughta lock you in that dungeon, for your own protection. You are literally a danger to yourself, Clara Oswald."

"Oy, I'm not the one who chases demons and monsters around all day," she argued furiously. "Besides, I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow evening anyway."

"What're you talking about?" he stopped, looking at her. No. This was it, wasn't it? So soon?

"I've been in contact with someone who specializes in looking for the Doctor," she said, not meeting his eyes. "He's agreed to come and help me."

"Clara, you can't leave. If Crowley finds you out there on your own, he's going to make a move. I'm not totally sure he won't anyway."

"Sam, I appreciate everything you've done for me," she said, standing. "But I have to tell you. The last man I loved is gone forever. And what I'm feeling for you is _exactly_ how I felt when I first met him. I know what this is going to turn into and I . . ." she shook her head, eyes wet and a knot in her throat. "I can't. I've lost too many people. Danny, the Doctor . . . I can't fall for you and then end up losing you, and we both know that is exactly where this path will go if we follow it."

"You think I'm just going to let you walk away from this?" Sam demanded. "From _us_?"

"There is no us!" she cried. "I've known you a _week_. I can't – I can't fall in love with someone in a week. It's not possible. It's not. That can't be what this is, it _can't_ be . . ."

He kissed her softly, and she leaned into him, seeking the comfort. She wrapped her arms around him, and he did the same, holding her close. He sat on the bed, and pulled her to him. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying. Crying from the hurt and the loss and the love and everything else she didn't want to face. He just wrapped his arms around her, holding her and stroking her hair, letting her cry and just being there, which was exactly what she needed.

"Please don't go," he said softly.

Clara swallowed with a soft gasp of a sob, nodding into his shoulder.

He pulled his shoes off, then hers, and put her into bed. He crawled in next to her, pulling her against him and holding her. They eventually drifted off to sleep.

Until the morning, that is.

"Sam!" Dean yelled from the entrance. "There's a pervert at the door!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all for following and reviewing! It means so much to me and keeps me going! I know this chapter is short, so I'll make it up to you by posting several chapters tonight.**

* * *

"Gemini?"

"Stop."

"Aquarius?"

"Dude."

"Pisces?"

Dean Winchester groaned, and Captain Jack Harkness smirked, leaning back in the chair. He had to admit, this was one hell of a base. When Oswald had contacted him and given him the address, he hadn't been expecting an old power plant with a secret bunker underneath, riddled with ancient looking artifacts and filled with attractive people. Of course, no one had ever expected a hidden base under Roald Dahl Plass either. So he got it.

That Dean Winchester was a firecracker though. Now if only he could get him to swing his way.

He stood when Clara entered the room, followed by a taller, disgruntled looking man. The two had obviously just woken up, and together, if he had to guess.

"Clara Oswald," he greeted her.

"Captain Harkness," she smiled, taking his hand. "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

"I hope the name has been mentioned in good stories?"

"Complaining, mostly."

Jack laughed. "I was just talking to your lovely host," he mentioned.

Dean grimaced at Sam. "Dude called me pretty."

"I call 'em like I see 'em," Jack winked.

"And there's the part that created the complaints," Clara grinned.

Jack smiled. "How is he?"

"Grumpy and Scottish."

"Really? Last I saw he was melodramatic with hair that had its own set of emotions."

Clara laughed. "Twelve."

"Ten."

"Are they speaking in code?" Dean muttered to Sam.

"Clara says he knows about the Doctor," Sam replied in a hushed tone.

"This Doctor dude swings with a crazy crowd."

"Apparently he can change his face."

"Captain Bravado?"

"No, the Doctor."

"Oh."

Castiel entered from the kitchen, and Jack lit up, standing.

"Who is this?" Castiel frowned.

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack said, shaking his hand, Dean momentarily forgotten. " _Please_ tell me your name."

"Castiel. You've got a very firm grip."

"You're not the first fella to tell me that," Jack winked.

Castiel looked taken aback. "Are you attempting to flirt?"

"Well for a moment there I thought I was succeeding."

"Perhaps if you were to compliment me."

"Where to begin?"

"Cas, stop flirting with the weird alien guy," Dean snapped.

"Was I flirting?" Cas looked innocent and confused.

Clara and Sam, meanwhile, were roaring with laughter.

"Why am I the only one uncomfortable with this?" Dean demanded, grumbling as they all sat down.

"Alright," Jack said, crossing his arms and taking a long look at Clara. "How about we start from the beginning?"

Sam thoroughly enjoyed the next few hours he spent listening to Clara's travels with the Doctor. Occasionally she'd mention something that would completely shock him, and when she talked about Danny, she looked so heartbroken that Sam wanted to scoop her up and hold her right then and there.

She quickly changed the subject, and began to talk about a woman named Missy.

"She's caused a lot of trouble for us," Clara said. "She has tried to have me killed a number of times."

"Who is she, exactly?" Jack frowned, arms crossed.

"She's a Time Lord," Clara said, and Jack looked surprised. "She used to be called the Master."

Something in Jack's face changed. "The Master?"

"That's right. I'm assuming she was a he before her last regeneration. Do you know her?"

"Too well," Jack said darkly. "We have history."

"She's totally mad," Clara continued. "And according to the Doctor, the reason he left."

"Can I see the letter?"

She nodded, going and getting it. She returned quickly, and Jack scanned it.

"This is his handwriting?"

"Yeah," Clara nodded. "That's how I knew it was from him."

"These aren't the Doctor's words, though."

"What?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't care what kind of regeneration he goes through. I've done my reading on you. You're the Impossible Girl. He wouldn't just _leave_ you, not like this."

Clara's heart soared for a moment. He hadn't meant to leave her on purpose. He didn't hate her. He didn't just ditch her.

But then she realized what that must mean. Something had happened to him.

"What's the Impossible Girl?" Dean piped up.

Jack looked at her, and Clara swallowed.

"When the Doctor was in trouble," she began. "I stepped into his timeline to save him. He regenerates -gets a new body when he dies. He has lived for thousands of years, and when I stepped into the timeline, I was split into hundreds of little pieces and thrown all throughout his timeline, always stepping in when I was needed, but never really being noticed."

"You're not the only Clara Oswald?" Dean frowned.

"No. I'm the _original_ Clara Oswald. When the Doctor met me, he'd already met me twice before – once on an alien planet hundreds of years into the future, and once in Victorian London. Each time I saved his life. Those Claras' were pieces of me, sent to save him."

Sam was in awe. Just when he thought she couldn't get any more amazing. She'd done that for her friend? Was there anything braver than that?

"Sometimes I get pangs of memories from past . . . future . . . _different_ lives," she amended. "But I never remember it all. I'm technically impossible."

"Impossibly brilliant," Jack added. "Which is why he'd never leave you behind unless he was forced to. From what you've told me, I can almost guarantee that this is the Masters work."

"So what do we do?" Clara asked.

"I'm going to place a call in at U.N.I.T.," he said, standing. "I have a friend there who has as much experience with the Master – Missy – as I do. She'll keep an eye out."

"But how do we find the Doctor?"

"It's not how we find the Doctor," Jack said. "It's how we fake a big enough emergency that the Doctor comes to us."

* * *

 **I've got some ideas for the Dean and Whovian pairing, and no, it's not Jack ;) I think you all will be pleasantly surprised. It's new, different, and unexpected. However, me being the horrible person I am, will not be revealing this pairing for several more chapters. Ta-ta, old chaps!**


	11. Chapter 11

"So exactly what emergency is he going to send out?"

"Who knows? Jack Harkness is a man of mystery."

Sam could agree to that, but he didn't want to think of the Captain at that moment. The only thing he cared about was Clara, looking very pretty in a bright red dress, her hair pinned up but sweet, messy tendrils beginning to fall from it. Sam's suit jacket was draped over her shoulders as they walked in the park, enjoying the sunset after dinner a few days after Jack's arrival. He had left for New York, promising to be back shortly.

"It's great to get out," Clara admitted. "Our lives are kinda crazy, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I thought it was about time we went on an actual date instead of just sneaking into each others rooms at night."

Clara grinned, leaning against him as they stopped at a pond and watched the sun go down.

"I've seen a lot of things," Clara told Sam. "But nothing ever beats a sunset here on earth."

"I never get to watch them," Sam admitted. "Dean calls me a bitch and asks if I want some tampons to go with my sunset."

Clara laughed so hard she snorted, which Sam thought was adorable. They linked their fingers together, walking back towards the Impala.

"Oh, look!" Clara pointed. Someone was lighting fireworks and setting them off not too far away, and Sam shook his head.

"Too good to be true," he grinned.

"Shut up," Clara said, standing on her toes and closing her eyes as her lips met his. He laid on hand gently on her hip, the other on the side of her face lovingly as the light from the fireworks reflected off the water. Clara wrapped her arms around his shoulders, enjoying the moment. Who could have thought that a cliché first date of dinner, a walk, and fireworks could have been so sweet? For a moment, she forgot about everything she'd ever seen, other than Sam.

It was all ruined, though, when a woman screamed.

Sam was in hunter-mode in a matter of moments, drawing his gun from the small of his back and pushing Clara behind him against the Impala.

There was another scream, a woman crying for help.

"No," Sam said, grabbing her arm when she started to run. "Stay here. Do you have the knife?"

She nodded wordlessly, and Sam looked her in the eyes.

"If it's a trap, it'll be for you," he warned her. "Stay right here. Get in the car, don't leave it. There's a Devil's Trap carved into the roof, so no one can get in. I'll be right back."

"Be careful!" she warned him, getting in the car and locking it.

She waited several long moments, debating whether or not to go after him, when the back door unlocked. The door opened . . .

. . . And Missy slid in, looking absolutely flabbergasted.

" _There_ you are," she said, as though she'd lost Clara at the mall. She adjusted her hat. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"What are you doing here?" Clara was confused. "Where's the Doctor?"

"He's not with you?" Now Missy looked confused.

"Of course he's not with me, you did something to him," Clara said.

"I did?" Missy looked surprised. "I wish I'd told myself that."

"He's really not with you?"

"I don't think so. He's not with you?"

They stared at each other, and they both got out of the car, facing each other.

"Ooh," Missy admired Clara's dress. "Date night? I like purple better, you should wear purple."

"How'd you get off Skaro?"

"I rode a Dalek."

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Missy." The Time Lady still looked confused and upset. "But if the Doctor isn't with you, where _is_ the silly man?"

"I thought you'd made him leave me," Clara said. "I haven't seen him in weeks. I thought you'd done something to him."

"Why would I do anything to him? He's my best friend."

"He's _my_ best friend," Clara argued. "He's _your_ obsession."

Missy rolled her eyes and waved her hand. "Oh, labels."

"Clara." Sam rejoined her, gun still drawn. "I didn't find anything, but – who's this?"

"He's pretty," Missy said, looking him up and down.

"That's Missy," Clara said, still as confused as when Missy first turned up.

"Evil Missy?" Sam looked confused too.

Missy looked offended. "What have you told people about me?"

"You tried to trick the Doctor into killing me," Clara reminded her.

Missy stomped her foot, doing an annoyed little dance. "I was kidding! I would have stopped him, maybe."

"Clara, seriously, whatever crazy is going on here is going to have to wait," Sam said. "Just because I didn't find anything doesn't mean –"

"That a demon isn't standing right behind you?"

Sam spun around, shoving Clara behind him.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Jumpy, Sam?"

Missy laid her hands on Clara's shoulder, leaning forward to whisper to her. "Who's he?"

"Crowley," Clara told her, backing up, Missy holding on to her. "Demon King of Hell."

"He's cute. Is he single?"

"Missy, shut up!"

"Clara, get in the car," Sam said, holding his gun up.

"I'm not leaving you!"

"The car!"

"What?" Crowley pointed at the car. "That car?" With a snap of his fingers, the doors were crushed inwards, and the roof sank inwards.

Clara took a deep breath. "Dean's going to have a fit."

"Who's Dean?" Missy asked excitedly. "I like that name. Doctor, Dean, Dean, Doctor, a bit similar, don't you think?"

"Missy, _shut up!_ "

"Listen, Samantha," Crowley said. "I'm not exactly happy with your results."

"We're working on it."

"Not fast enough, I'm afraid." He spread his hands. "I did warn you. But until you can start cooperating better, I'm going to have to take action. Now, I was rather looking forward to getting Dean out of the way, but I'll settle for Miss Oswald."

Missy reached into her skirts pockets, drawing out an odd looking ray gun type of thing. She aimed, and Clara was relieved, thinking she was going to shoot Crowley. Her relief turned to horror, though, when she turned her aim to Sam, shooting it and sending him hurling forwards.

"Sam!" Clara reached him as he hit the ground, rolling him over. He was breathing, but honestly, Clara was getting sick of her date getting knocked out by arguably insane women.

"Blah, blah, blah," Missy said, waving her ray gun around. "God, that was a relief. Do you when the last time I shot someone was? Three _whole_ hours ago. I thought I'd never get my fix!" She blew on her gun, replacing it in her dress.

"Well," Crowley said. "That was easy. Come along, Miss Oswald."

"Oh, no, no, no," Missy said, wrapping her arms around Clara's shoulders in a hug. "She's going with me. We're friends!"

"And who are you, exactly?"

"Why, Missy, of course."

"Well, Missy," Crowley said. "As much as I enjoy the company of anyone who shoots Sam Winchester down, I must be going, and I'll not leave until I have what I've come for."

"Yes, see, that'd be okay," Missy said, rolling her eyes. "Only _I_ need Clara. So, no offense, but get your own hostage, bucko. I was here first."

"Are you two actually arguing over who's going to kidnap me?" Clara asked incredulously, trying to shake Sam awake.

"Don't worry, I'll win," Missy assured her. "I was captain of my high school debate team. Well, I would have been, if there'd been a debate team. Or I'd gone to high school."

"Oy!" Clara said loudly, gaining their attention. "Listen to me, both of you. If you think that for one second I'm going to stand around waiting to be a damsel in distress, I've got news for you. I have fought aliens, seen worlds burning and dealt with classrooms full of prepubescent teenagers. I'm not afraid of a deranged Time Lord or so called King of Hell. So you can both, in the words of a very good friend of mine, _eat me_."

"Save the drama for your mama," Missy rolled her eyes. "What're you going to do? You're defenseless. I have half a mind to team up with this kingly man here and share you."

"I'm game," Crowley acknowledged.

"Sorry, kids," Clara said, pulling her sleeve up to reveal a bulky looking accessory. She wrapped her arm around Sam's. "But the date's over." She hit a button on the watch, and she and Sam disappeared.


	12. Chapter 12

"Perfect timing on the Vortex Manipulator," Jack told Clara the next morning. "Everything went according to plan. Not only did you draw Missy out, but you were able to figure out that the Doctor disappearing wasn't her."

"I could have gotten more out of her if Crowley hadn't showed up," she grumbled, pouring two cups of coffee.

"How is Sam?" Dean asked from the table.

"He has a headache," Clara said. "I think he's getting sick of being knocked about by mad Scottish women."

"I'll gladly take his place," Jack winked.

Clara rolled her eyes at the Captain, and brought Sam his coffee. He smiled his thanks.

"I should have known he'd show up," Sam admitted as he pulled a shirt on. "I just thought, you know, if he did I'd be conscious."

"On the bright side, you look so cute when you're asleep," Clara told him.

He grinned. "Just when I'm asleep?"

"Oh, yeah, you're very hard to look at when you're up and about. Damn awful, actually."

They grinned at each other, and headed for the kitchen. Jack was getting off the phone, and he was smiling broadly when he turned to face then.

"Great news," he said. "I found someone who can help us find the Doctor."

"What? Really?" Clara asked. "That's brilliant!"

"She's in the states, and she'll be here in a few hours. One thing, Sam, Dean . . ."

"What?" Dean frowned.

"She knows who you are. She started hyperventilating when I mentioned you. Something about books and some other nonsense."

Dean groaned. Sam hesitated.

"Her name wasn't Becky, was it?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, why?" Jack frowned.

"Becky is Sam's ex-wife," Dean supplied.

Clara whirled around. "His _what_?"

"It was annulled!" Sam glared at his brother. He looked at Clara. "It was Vegas, there was a demon involved, it's a long story."

"Well, you can relax. Not a Becky," Jack assured him. "Actually, Clara, she says she knows you – her name was Osgood?"

Clara smiled. "Osgood, brilliant! Yeah, if anyone can find him, it'll be her. When will she arrive?"

"She's outside Portland, so it'll be a while." There was a knocking on the door, and everyone looked at each other.

"Surely that can't be her?" Castiel frowned.

"No, I just got off the phone with her," Jack agreed.

Dean tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, and grabbed a bottle of water sitting on the table near the door. He slowly opened it.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a Captain Jack Harkness. Is he around?"

Clara frowned, trying to stand on her toes to see who it was – the voice sounded vaguely familiar.

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged. Dean opened the water, and squirted it on the woman's face.

She slapped him, but didn't burn or sizzle or scream.

"Sorry," Dean grumbled, rubbing his cheek. "Just checking."

"Is the Captain here or not?"

Dean stepped out of the way, and the woman entered, looking around.

"River!" Clara exclaimed.

River Song looked down over the balcony, just as shocked to see Clara. "Clara! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for the Doctor," Clara said as River came down the steps. "Sorry, I thought you were . . . you know."

"Dead? Yes. It didn't agree with me." She looked at Captain Jack. "Jack Harkness. Just as I remember you."

"Sorry," he frowned, shaking her hand. "Have we met?"

"Briefly, in my last regeneration. You tried to pick me up in a bar. I don't believe it was a particularly long conversation."

"I try and pick up a lot of women in bars. Can you be more specific?"

"I tried to shoot you."

He snapped his fingers as though remembering something. "Mels, right?"

"I prefer _River_ nowadays," she said, shedding her jacket and shoving it into Dean's arms. Dean frowned at the jacket, and tossed it aside.

"Someone want to explain who the hell she is?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Sorry," Clara said. "Everyone, this is Professor River Song. River, this is Sam, Dean, and Castiel. River is the Doctor's wife."

"Pleasure," she quipped quickly.

"How did you know where to find me?" Jack frowned.

River raised an eyebrow, and lifted her wrist, revealing a vortex manipulator. "This is yours."

Jack held his up. " _This_ is mine."

"This is yours from the future."

"So you tracked it."

"Precisely." She frowned, looking around. "I hacked into the U.N.I.T. database, as I do every month to keep tabs on the Doctor, and saw a log from Torchwood former employee Captain Jack Harkness, who was looking for the Doctor. Now, usually when someone is looking for him, well, I don't interfere. Why should I make it any easier for them when I can hardly find the man myself? But when I saw your name, I was intrigued. The Doctor has . . . mentioned you."

"Really?" Jack looked nervous. "What did he say?"

"I think I'll not repeat it," River said. "As I was saying, I saw your name and here I am. Same as you, looking for the mad man in the box. And Clara is here as well. Why?"

Clara swallowed. "He left me."

River looked sympathetic. She took the younger girls hand. "He does do that," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"He will be, too, when I find him," Clara vowed. "He left me with nothing. Not a word. Just a stupid note."

"Well, as it happens, I'm worried about him myself," River admitted. "My calls no longer go through. So desperate times call for desperate measures." She turned to Dean. "All the Men of Letter bases have massive computer systems. Where's yours?"

"How do you know about the Men of Letters?" Dean frowned.

"Because I was one, sweetie," she said, smiling sweetly. "This isn't the only base, you know. They were all over the world. I happened to be a part of the Men of Letters back in nineteen sixty three. Bristol."

"You were a man of letters?" Sam looked disbelieving.

"Woman of letters, dear," River replied. "Now, the computer?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Last chapter for tonight! I should have more up within the next few days, but until then you guys can feel free to leave any support or comments! I hope you all are enjoying evil!Crowley because I sure do love writing him ;) See you guys later!  
**

* * *

"This is it."

Dean flipped the light on, and River entered the basement. She looked around, examining the tech and frowning.

"Have you boys done _anything_ to keep this maintained?" she demanded.

Dean looked annoyed. "Look, we don't do tech. We hunt monsters. We're not IT."

"No, obviously not," River mumbled, running a finger over the dusty console. She sighed.

"This is going to take a few days to set up. I'm going to need any and all tools you have. Find the manual to this thing, I may need it, too. And get me a glass of wine."

"Hey, listen lady, I'm not a maid," Dean tried to protest.

"You are now. Whether or not you choose to wear the French maid costume and carry a feather duster is up to you, but highly recommended. Now get to it."

Dean felt violated and objectified, but did as she asked.

Meanwhile upstairs, Sam stepped away, his phone pressed to his ear.

"I don't know what else to tell you," he was saying. "I tracked her to New Orleans via traffic cams and security footage. She went into a hotel and hasn't been out in days. I've got some friends down there tracking her, but she just vanished."

"Find her. I want to make sure absolutely nothing gets passed me," Crowley grumbled. Sam could hear screaming in the distance, and tried desperately to ignore it.

"I shouldn't do a damn thing for you after that little stunt you pulled the other night," Sam said lowly.

"You don't have a choice. Each day I grow more and more tempted to open the Cage. You need to understand that the only reason I haven't is because I don't want you too distracted to do a job you're already awful at." He paused. "What have you got on the Darkness?"

"I told you what went down at the Lizzie Borden house," Sam said, sitting down and running a hand over his face. "If you let her run wild, it's going to be harder to keep tabs on her."

"I'm not _letting_ her do anything, Moose. I can't keep her still without losing fifteen men in the process. You don't understand the gravity of this situation. She's fine feeding on the souls of demons for now, but if she gets out and starts preying on people, as you've already seen – well, you remember those days, don't you?"

"There's almost no lore on it," Sam said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What a strange coincidence that every time he spoke with the King of Hell his migraine came back. "Clara found some books on something, but they're in Enochian. Cas is translating, but we've got other problems, too. Metatron is still out there, and get this – he was last seen in New Orleans."

"I don't like the sound of that," Crowley admitted. "Alright, here's what's going to happen – we're taking a trip down to the Big Easy. Bring your girlfriend, I seem to recall you saying my mother was rather fond of her in her own twisted, sadistic way."

"I don't trust you anywhere near Clara," Sam argued.

"What on earth would I do to her if I need her?" Crowley demanded. "Leave tomorrow, call me when you arrive in the city."

He hung up, and Sam cursed. Sighing, he shoved his phone in his pocket, and made his way downstairs to the basement.

"Hey," he said, and Dean looked up from where he was handing Professor Song tools on her command.

"What'd King Dickwad say?" Dean asked.

"We're going to New Orleans," Sam sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Tomorrow."

"What, together?" Dean snorted. "That should be a fun car ride."

"He's meeting me there. He wants Clara to go."

"No damn way."

"That's what I said, but he may be right. Rowena's spells don't work on Clara, for whatever reason, and she's been training, enough to defend herself against Crowley."

"Spells won't work on people like us," River remarked from under the monitor.

"People like who?" Dean frowned.

River slid herself out from under the monitor, sitting up and shoving her wild hair behind her. "Time travelers. If we travel for a long time, eventually we gather so much energy and it just stays put for a while. Years, sometimes. It cancels out anything else of power, within reason. Spells are basically useless, however a demon _could_ summon enough energy to toss us across a room or something like that. Hex bags work, but if you're hunting a witch, I'd keep that a secret."

"That's a relief," Sam admitted. "What about angels?"

River shook her head. "I don't think there's anything powerful enough to cancel that sort of raw power out. Sorry, sweetie." She returned to the monitor.

"So, what, couple hunting?" Dean looked slightly amused. "Should be good for the relationship."

"You and Jo did it."

Something changed in Dean's face, and he looked away.

"Look," Sam said quickly. "I didn't mean . . ."

"It's fine. You're right. Clara should go. Chances are Rowena is long gone and you guys are going for nothing. Take a few days and spend in the city. If you have any problems or spot Metadouche, call Cas and he'll meet you there."

"Sure. You'll be alright here?"

Dean looked down at River, who was under the computer, and grimaced.

"'Course," he sighed.

* * *

"This is so exciting!"

Clara loaded her new duffle bag into the trunk of the sleek, comfortable SUV Jack had pulled some strings to get. Sam had just finished putting some personal touches on it – lining it with salt, blessing it with holy water, and hiding a Devil's Trap under the carpet.

"I can't believe I'm going to New Orleans," she continued. "On an _actual_ mission as an _actual_ hunter!"

Sam grinned, getting behind the wheel as she climbed into the passenger seat.

"Is it more exciting that an alien planet or having dinner with a former president?" he asked as he left the garage.

"I don't know, it must just be something about the here and now, and on my home planet, and with you," Clara said honestly. "I feel – badass!"

She looked badass, Sam thought, and undeniably hot. Dark jeans, biker boots, and a new leather jacket that Sam honestly thought would look even better, if possible, on the floor adorned the little thing in the seat next to him. She wore her anti-posession charm, and after a long argument finally agreed to get tattooed while they were in the city. She was also armed, the demon killing knife strapped to her belt, hidden beneath her coat, and a small, easy to handle Beretta subcompact pocket pistol was hidden inside her jacket in a hidden pocket, with silver bullets Sam had helped her melt herself.

He couldn't decide if he was incredibly proud of her, or scared for her life.

She must have noticed his mind wondering, because she slid her hand over his on the armrest, and smiled.

He smiled back, remembered how lucky he was, and got on the interstate.


	14. Chapter 14

New Orleans was busy, and crowded, and everything Clara loved in a city.

The people were all different; some looked like the regulars of London. Some sang on the streets, guitar cases opened, awaiting tips. The smells made her stomach growl, and the voices made her smile.

Sam parked the SUV down the street from a large, old looking house that looked like something out of _Interview with a Vampire_. The barely noticeable sign above the door read _Miss Agata's._

Sam pushed open the creaking door, revealing a room of crowded mismatched furniture and men and woman of all kinds, all with one thing in common – they had a look similar that reminded Clara of Sam and Dean.

The bar smelled amazing, like Cajun food and sweet cigar smoke. A few people muttered their hellos to Sam as he passed; a few clapped him on the back, and a man across the bar cat called and yelled "Nice hair, Winchester!"

Clara frowned, though, when she saw several people giving Sam dirty, angry looks.

Sam ignored these people and pushed forwards to the bar, sitting on a tall stool and helping Clara onto hers as she blushed furiously at her shortness in this place.

"Sam Winchester? Well I'll be damned!" A tall, thick woman came out of the kitchen, steam following her. She had light brown skin and crazy black curls, not unlike River's, bundled under a colorful scarf. She was grinning widely and she leaned on the counter. "Where y'at, boy?"

"Hey, Ag," he grinned.

"Hold still, lemme look at you – damn, you grown up good. Hair could use a trimmin'. I can go get my clippers and be back before you say 'shear.'" She laughed and slapped his shoulder. "What's it been, eleven years? Twelve?"

"At least," Sam agreed.

Her face grew solemn. "Heard about your daddy. Damn shame, he was a good man. Bobby and Rufus, too. Always did tell Rufus somethin' was going to catch 'im, as reckless he was in his later years. But your daddy and Bobby . . . _damn_ shame." She shook her head and leaned back. "Where is that brother of yours?"

"Working a case," Sam replied. "Back in Kansas."

"What, he didn't want to come see Miss Agata? I'll tan his hide next time I see him."

"I'll tell him," Sam grinned.

"You be sure you do." Agata turned her gaze to Clara. "And who's this pretty little thing you got with you? Don't tell me there's a Mrs. Sam?"

Clara blushed but grinned, holding her hand out. "Clara Oswald. It's so nice to meet you"

Agata clasped her hands over Clara's. "Now, you keep an eye on this one," she told Sam. "All polite and such. Does my heart good to see you in such good company."

"Hey Aggie, can we get some more beers down here, or what?" a man at the end of the bar yelled.

"Why don't you hold your horses, Jimmy, can't you see I'm talkin' to a Winchester?" she yelled back.

"Winchester? That John?"

"John's dead, you old fool, been dead for ten years. This here's his son."

"Dean?"

"Go back to drinking, you daft man."

"I ain't got any beer!"

Agata rolled her eyes and pushed away from the counter. "Gimme a second to deal with this ol' fart, Sammy." She patted his hands and headed for the tap.

"Sammy," Clara grinned. "That's cute."

"Yeah, Aggie is good people," Sam said. "My dad was bringing Dean and I here when we were just kids."

"What is this place?" she asked, looking around. She saw several guns laying on tables, and a few men trading knives.

"It's a Hunter's Bar. Cheap room and board and filled with mostly trustworthy people," Sam explained. "There aren't a lot of places like this left anymore."

"Is Miss Agata a hunter?"

"She was, back in the seventies and eighties. She retired in '89 and settled down here, turned her house into a bar and inn. Her husband Berny was good friends with Bobby. He occasionally hunts."

"Not no more he doesn't," Agata said, returning and setting a couple of beers in front of them. "You know that crazy old fool broke a hip going after a damn rugaru of all things? I officially retired him to the kitchen." She took a drink of her own beer. "Now, what's got you two all the way down here in my house?"

"We're tracking a witch," Sam said, taking a drink of his own beer. Clara followed suit, enjoying the rich taste of it. "Red hair, Scottish?"

"Haven't seen her 'round these parts," Agata said, scratching the back of her neck. "But I know there was a Coven gathering 'bout a week ago. Now, mind you, I didn't see anything myself, but I got a hunter who was in on it."

"Do you know where I can find him?" Sam asked, pulling out a pen and paper.

She shook her head. "No need for that. He's sitting right over there."

She pointed across the bar. Sam and Clara turned, following her finger.

The man didn't look like a hunter. He was small, thin as a rail. He was laughing with another hunters. They clapped him on the shoulders, and got up, leaving him.

"Thanks," Sam told Agata.

"You two staying a while?"

"Yeah. One room."

"Oh, good thing ya told me, I woulda never guessed." She rolled her eyes, turning and heading for the kitchen with her drink.

"Follow me," Sam said.

They picked up their beers, heading over to the table where the hunter now sat alone. Sam cleared his throat and set his drinks down.

"Mind if we join you?"

The hunter looked up, confused at first, but then recognition spread across his face, as well as a huge smile.

"Sam?" he laughed, standing. Clara was shocked when the small man drew Sam into an awkward hug. Sam patted his back.

"Hey, Garth."

"It's good to see you! What are you doing here? Where's Dean?"

"No Dean this time," Sam said. "This is Clara."

Clara smiled and waved. "Hi."

She was shocked when Garth drew her into a hug.

"Come on, sit down, sit down!" Garth said, scooting over and making room.

"What're you doing here?" Sam asked as they sat at the round booth. "You're still hunting even though . . ."

"Well, it doesn't pay the bills, but man I missed it," Garth admitted. "As long as I keep off the silver weapons, I'm good. I'm just tracking mostly these days while the missus is at home – I'm going to be a daddy!"

"That's great, Garth," Sam smiled.

Garth went real serious. "I just got a great idea. Sam, would you and Dean be the godparents? Man, it would mean so much to me, and I know Bess would just love it. It would be great."

"Um, sure, Garth," Sam said, flustered, and Clara tried to hold back some laughter.

"Thanks, Sam! It means a lot!" He leaned forward, looking at Clara. "Sam is a great friend. Dean, too. I've never met you, are you a hunter?"

"I am now," she smiled. "Sam's training me." She squeezed his hand under the table, and he squeezed back.

"Well that's fantastic! Sam, it's so great you've taken on students." Garth grinned and leaned back, taking a drink of beer.

"You, uh, you sure you should be having that?" Sam asked, nodding at the bottle.

"Well, between you and me, big guy," he said, getting closer and lowering his voice. "It's pretty hard for me to get drunk what with my 'abilities'. I'm just blending in."

"The other hunters don't know?"

"Some do. Others would start shooting first and asking questions later. But enough about me. What're ya'll doing here?"

"Well, we're tracking a witch," Sam said.

"Rowena," Clara supplied.

"And we have reason to believe she's in town," Sam continued. "Agata said you covered a Coven meeting?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't much of meeting. There were maybe six of 'em, meeting in a back alley, and this redhead one was saying all sorts of odd things, mentioning a book and a 'Mega Coven' and things. Well, I was gonna make a move, but they started arguing and this witch burned four of 'em to a crisp. Didn't take her but two words. The others started fawning over her, I turned tail – no pun intended – and ran. No way was I going in there without at least two other hunters." His face lit up. "Which I now have! Oh, man, this is going to be great, like old times! When should we leave?"

He rambled on as Sam sighed. It was going to be a long next few days.

* * *

 **Miss Agata for Louisiana Senate, 2016.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey ya'll, sorry I was gone a while. I'm having a bit of an existential crisis at the moment so things could be better. I'm going to try and upload more!**

* * *

Sams eyelids fluttered as his eyes moved rapidly, in a state of half sleep and half awake.

Chains occasionally filled his vision, or he'd see something move quickly out of the corner of his eye.

Not that he had much room to turn and look. The Cage was small.

He heard a ringing in his ears, the same ringing he heard before Michael or Lucifer or both took their anger out, using their voices and images and blood and gore and oh God make it stop . . .

He rose with a gasp, sweat drying on his face. He looked around, desperately trying to remember where he was, and sighed with relief when he realized he was in Miss Agata's boarding house. Clara slept soundly beside him, her chest rising and falling softly, her back turned to him still in the same position she had been as they had fallen asleep holding each other.

Sam ran a hand over his face, his heart rate slowing gradually. Moonlight was streaming in through the window, and he sat up and watched the clouds pass over it for a moment.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he snapped up the knife from his nightstand, looking around only to find nothing there.

Paranoia. Of course. For whatever reason, God was sending Sam visions of his time in the Cage, and they were making him paranoid.

 _You should have told Dean_ , said a little voice in the back of his head, but Sam pushed it away. Dean had enough problems. He didn't need to be worried over something as little as visions.

Sam reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and drained it in several furious gulps, but couldn't satisfy his thirst. He wondered if Aggie was still up, and maybe would want to share some scotch.

"You awake?" Clara mumbled, turning over.

"Oh, yeah," Sam said, startled. "Can't sleep."

"Come here." She pulled his arm down and he leaned back. She snuggled up to him, laying her head in the crook of his arm and laying her hand on his bare chest.

She frowned. "Oh, Sam, you're burning up. Are you alright?"

"Fine," he lied, taking her hand in his and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "Just got too warm under the covers, is all. Go back to sleep, Clara."

He laid his forehead against her hair, comforted by her touch, her scent, her presence. He felt her drift back to sleep, and stared at the ceiling, wondering what God was trying to tell him.

* * *

"This is the place the Coven was meeting," Garth said, standing in the alley behind a large, expensive looking hotel. He kicked at some ash. "And there are some of the ladies in attendance."

"She doesn't mess around," Clara muttered.

"No," Crowley agreed as he joined them. He frowned at Garth. "Oh. _You_."

"Sorry, have we met?" Garth smiled awkwardly, looking at Sam.

"Not while you were conscious, thankfully. Moose, what have you found?"

Sam nodded at the ash piles. "A couple of Rowena's friends. This is the place we tracked her to, and Garth saw her meeting with a few witches. She's starting something called a 'Mega Coven.'"

"Not very catchy, though, is it?" Clara said, pushing some hair behind her ear.

"Alright," Sam said, checking the rounds in his gun. "Here's the plan. Garth is going to be stationed at one end of the hall. I did some digging, and her attack dog spell won't work on you, because, well . . ."

"I'm already an attack dog!" Garth grinned broadly. "Got it."

"Clara is going to be at the other end of the hall," Sam continued. "I'm going to bust into her room, where we know she's holed up with two other witches. I'm going to take out the first two and then Garth and Clara are going to come in from the sides."

"How come he isn't doing anything?" Clara asked, looking at Crowley.

"Because I'm the boss," he said.

"Because I don't trust him not to mess up," Sam said. "Alright, are we ready?"

"One thing," Crowley said. "That plan won't work."

Sam sighed. "Why not?"

"Because she's a witch, you oaf. She'll have the place protected. A spell on the door."

"I can get through that," Clara supplied, and everyone looked at her.

"You do magic?" Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"I can unlock a magic lock," she said uncomfortably. "Rowena showed me."

"Really? And what else, pray tell, did my mother teach you?"

"Alright, Clara gets through the lock, and then I go in," Sam said, giving Clara a look that said they'd be having a long conversation later. "Now can we get this on with?"

The elevator ride was awkward. The demon King of Hell, a Hunter, a Time-Traveler, and a Werewolf make an odd combination in any situation, but riding in a slow moving elevator playing Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" just made Sam's migraine come back. Especially with Garth singing along.

They eventually escaped the confined space and made their way into the hallway.

Clara leaned in front of the door, taking a deep breath. She'd been practicing this.

" _Dimittam absconditis tuis_ ," she muttered, and the door clicked open.

"Alright," Sam said quietly. "You all stay out here and be ready if she bolts."

He stood back, counted to three, and slammed his foot against the door. He entered swiftly, gun drawn.

After a moment, he called, "It's clean . . . for lack of a better word. Clara, don't come in here."

"Why?" she demanded, pushing past Crowley. Crowley quickly grabbed her wrist, holding her back.

"Really, love," he warned. "I wouldn't."

Clara yanked her wrist away and entered the hotel room.

As soon as she did, she wished she hadn't.

Four hotel employees, two bellhops, a maid, and a manager, all dead. Two were stapled to the ceiling, blood dripping from their wrists and throats. The maid was splayed across the floor, entrails spilling out of her. The last one was slumped against the wall, eyes gone and blood leaking down his face.

Clara put a hand to her mouth, willing herself not to scream.

"Demons," Crowley said, strolling leisurely around the room, examining his mother's handy work. "My men. I put them here to keep an eye on her. Looks like she drained them all, for some reason. You three look around the rest of the suite."

"I can't," Sam said in a bit of a strangled voice. Clara looked at him, frowning. His eyes were trained on the maid on the floor, her blood pooling around her. His hands shook, and he was holding his breath.

Crowley noticed his odd behavior, too, but looked amused. "What's the matter, Sam? Been a while since you've seen this much demon blood, I'd be willing to guess." He stepped over the dead demon-maid, glancing at the wall behind her. "I'd also be willing to guess that message is for you."

Sam glanced at the wall, heart racing and nearly stopping for a moment when he saw the message, written in demon blood, that he knew was directed to him.

 _I know._


	16. Chapter 16

Sam emerged from the hotel gasping for air, head spinning and stomach rolling. He leaned against the cold brick, willing his head to stop spinning.

 _She knew._ Rowena _knew_. How did she know? Chuck hadn't put it in the books. No one knew except for a handful of people, most who were dead besides Dean, Cas, and Crowley. How could she know to set that trap?

He couldn't stand to think of what would have happened had he stayed in that room a moment longer. He could already feel the raw addiction, desperately trying to claw its way back into his body. He suddenly realized why he'd been so thirsty last night.

Had God been trying to warn him about this? Is that why he had dreams of the Cage and woke up craving – something?

"Sam!"

He didn't acknowledge Clara for a moment, trying to get himself together. She was right in front of him, now, and Garth not far behind.

"I'm gonna do some sniffing around," he said. "Your friend is calling a clean up crew. You alright, big guy?"

Sam gave a weak, unconvincing nod, but for once Garth took the hint and left him alone, calling that he'd meet him back at the boarding house.

"What happened in there?" Clara asked, as gently as she could. She pulled a crate from beside the dumpster, making Sam sit. Even sitting down, he was still almost taller than Clara, and she was level with his face.

"Something happened in there, and I don't take you for the queasy type," she said. "Especially not when they're demons. So what set you off? Crowley seemed to know."

"I – I can't talk about it," he said, and was thankful when Clara didn't push it.

"I told him we're leaving, and to leave you be a while," Clara said. "He didn't seem very concerned – he found a message for him as well, written on paper, mind you, but – well, come on. Let's get you back to Agata's."

* * *

" . . . and he just sort of spaced out for a moment, and then looked real sick. He ran out and I followed." Clara looked over, checking on Sam. "He's asleep. He's been running a fever since last night."

"Describe the crime scene again," Dean's voice sounded concentrated even over the phone, as though all other priorities were behind him now that something was up with his brother.

"Awful. Just – awful," she breathed. "They were demons, but still, all four of them. Dead. They were on . . . on the ceiling and the wall and the floor and there was just blood everywhere, more blood than I've ever seen."

"And you said they were demons?" Dean asked, as though suddenly putting the pieces together.

"Yeah, that's what Crowley said."

He was quiet a moment. "That _bitch_." He took a deep breath. "Alright, you need to get back to the Bunker. Can you drive?"

"Sure," she frowned. "But what is going on? No one will tell me anything. Even Garth won't –"

"Garth is there? Jesus. Alright, is he nearby? Can I talk to him?"

"I think he's downstairs," she said. "Hold on."

She found Garth at the bar, quietly conversing with Agata. He smiled broadly when Clara told him who was on the phone.

"Dean!" he said. "How are you buddy? Yeah, great. Did Sam tell you? I'm a Dad!" He listened. "No, I didn't think . . . that explains a lot." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's not a problem. I'd be glad to." He looked at Clara, and nodded. "Sure. Don't know how happy she'll be about it, though. Sure thing. Bye, Dean."

He handed the phone back to Clara.

"Dean?" she said.

"Hey. Listen, let Sam rest until the evening and then he can get himself together. Until then, stay with Garth. Can you do that?"

"Of course," she agreed. "Is River behaving herself?"

"No, but I can manage. Be careful."

"You too. Bye."

She hung up, and Garth looked sheepish.

"Not to be a nuisance," he said. "But Dean says I gotta take you to the tattoo parlor."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Osgood."

"And so am I."

Jack grinned at the women at the door. "It's my lucky day."

"No, Captain." River shoved the Captain away, welcoming the women in. "Hello, ladies. Petranella and Bonnie, yes?"

"We just prefer Osgood," the one on the left said, pushing her glasses up her face.

"Of course. Follow me."

River led them downstairs. Dean was leaning over a console, and River pinched his right buttocks. He shot up, grabbing his bottom, and blushed furiously. It was like the third time that day.

"Dean Winchester," she said, sitting in a rolling chair. "Meet Osgood and Osgood."

Dean frowned, a bit in shock. They couldn't even be twins, that's how similar they were. The exact same face and hair. The only difference were the clothes. One wore a long grey coat and a black tie, her hair pinned up in a messy bun and her glasses sliding down her nose. The other one pushed her glasses up, and shoved her soft curls behind her ear. She wore a colorful scarf and red converse. They both smiled and said "Hello" at the same time.

"Well, I'm seein' double," Dean grinned. "Pleasure, ladies. Dean Winchester."

He shook their hands, smiling, but he had to ask.

"So, uh. You two . . .?"

"Sisters by all accounts," said Osgood one.

"Long story short," the second one said. "One of us is a shapeshifting alien and another one may be human, but may also not be human."

"Right. Well, for my sake, do you guys have separate names I can use?"

The Osgood's looked at each other for a moment, hesitating.

"I'm Bonnie," said the one with the scarf.

"Petranella," the one in the coat said.

"Great. So, you guys know about tech, huh?"

The Osgoods laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean grinned. He liked these girls.

"Petranella, can you stay with Dean and help set up the computer?" River asked. "Bonnie can help me take apart my vortex manipulator."

"Sure," Petranella said, opening her briefcase. She pulled a laptop and a tablet from it, and sat at the table, opening it. "I should be able to clean and reboot your systems by overriding it and setting them up with an intergalactic virus protection."

"That's amazing," Dean frowned, looking over her shoulder.

"There. It'll take a few minutes to finish installing." She pushed away from the computer, crossing her legs, feeling awkward, uncrossing them, and then crossing them again. She fiddled with her hands.

Dean sat on the table. "So, Petranella," he started.

"You can call me Petra," she said quickly. "That's what my Dad always called me. My mum hated it. But it's alright."

"I like it," Dean said. "Both ways."

"Thanks," she said, looking embarrassed. She didn't take praise well.

"So how'd you end up running in the Doctor's circle?"

"Oh, well," she said, glad to have a different topic. "I've always been really into computers and myths and . . . Star Trek. Anyway, I went to college, helped UNIT with a Nestene problem in Mongolia, moved on to be a scientist in UNIT. Then there was an invasion and I met the Doctor. But I've been fascinated with him since I was a kid."

"Why?"

She swallowed. "As a child," she began. "My older sister, Marie – she was very popular. She played sports and had lots of friends and I was a nerdy little kid with thick glasses and asthma. My mum adored Marie and Marie was jealous because Dad favored me, I think. My dad used to find me crying a lot, and he bought me books. Books, and movies, and told me stories all about space and other worlds. My mother hated it. She wanted me to play dress up and go to dances but I wanted to read comic books and stargaze. When I heard that there was a man out there that was pretty much everything I've ever aspired to be I just – I had to find more out. Oh my God I can't believe I just said all that."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, I get it. My old man always doted on my little brother. Treated him like some fragile little kid his whole life. But Sam's gotta be the strongest guy I know."

"I know," Petra said. She quickly turned red. "I, uh. I'm sorry. I do know, though. John and Mary, and Sam and Castiel and Ruby and Michael and Lucifer and Crowley and I need to shut up."

Dean nodded. "You're a fan, right."

"I read the books," she nodded. "In my defense, I didn't know you all were real until about two years ago. And that's only because UNIT noticed the angels fall. We thought it was an invasion but kept it under wraps as a freak meteor shower. That's when I began to suspect. So I got in contact with a few people and discovered the truth."

"Well, I like you better than most of our fans," Dean said. "You're not crazy or fangirling or anything. To be honest, it's kinda nice having someone who knows what I've been through without having to sit down and explain it all."

"Actually," she said, rustling through her purse. "The books stopped being put up online a few months ago. The last book ended with Sam making a deal with Rowena."

"Charlie was the one publishing the unpublished work," Dean said. "Her idea of being a good fangirl. She died."

"Charlie – oh, no," she said, taking a puff from an inhaler. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine - the books described her like a sister to you."

"She didn't die for nothin'," Dean said, rolling up his sleeve.

Petra lost her cool for a moment, grabbing his arm, eye wide. "The Mark of Cain is gone!"

"Yeah," Dean said as she released his arm. "And I killed Death and now we've got problems."

"Okay, I'm going to want you to explain that later," she said. "But right now, the system is up and ready. Time to try and find the Doctor."


	17. Chapter 17

**Hope you guys are ready for SMUT! Hahaha just kidding it's literally just Dean fluff.**

* * *

Clara glanced at Sam, who was asleep in the passenger seat. He was finally having a restful sleep, and he snored lightly.

They had taken turns driving, and they were finally approaching the Bunker. Clara absently scratched at the back of her shoulder, then remembered she was given strict instructions not to irritate the tattoo.

Garth had insisted on holding her hand, which was sweet, but Clara had had much worse than a small tattoo. She hadn't mentioned that, though – she was too preoccupied thinking about Sam.

Her phone buzzed, and she fumbled to answer it. "Hello?"

"Clara, love, how are you?"

She cradled the cell phone between her shoulder and ear. "Dad, hey. You got my message?"

"Yes, of course, but I don't understand why you have a new phone. You just bought the last one. Did you break it again? Laser gun? Lost it in space?"

"Left it in the TARDIS," she replied. "Along with my wallet, ID, and all cash."

"Oh, Clara! Why didn't you call earlier?"

"I got busy," she said.

"What on earth with?"

"After I got dropped off, I met a couple of guys who took me in and I'm helping them out with some things," she said. "I have people looking for the Doctor."

"Well, stay where you are, I'm coming to get you."

"No, Dad, really," Clara said quickly. "I'm fine. And I'm happy right now."

"Is this about a boy? Have you met someone?"

"I'll call you back, Dad."

"What's his name? What does he do for a living?"

"Love you!"

She hung up quickly as she pulled into the garage of the Bunker. Loud music played from the Impala, and Clara got out, walking over to it.

Dean laid in the back seat, sprawled out with one arm tossed over his eyes, obviously asleep. Clara banged on the window, and he sat up, eyes wide and looking around.

"Jesus," he sighed in relief, rubbing his head. "I thought you were River."

"Are you hiding out here?" Clara asked, amused as he crawled out of the car and flipped the music off.

"Damn right. She had me working twenty four/seven. I need like ten minutes." He looked at his watch. "Or four hours. Sheesh. Where's Sam?"

"Unloading the car," she said. She hesitated.

"How is he?" Dean urged.

"Fine!" Sam called from across the parking lot, annoyed.

"He's fine," Clara said quickly.

"Stop talking about me!"

Clara grinned and shrugged at Dean, jogging back to the car and grabbed her bag of clothes. "Don't be angry at him for worrying," she told him quietly. "He told me how you were when he had the Mark."

Sam sighed. "But this is seriously nothing. I have visions of Hell all the time. Dean, too."

"Mine don't give me fevers, and I almost never wake up screaming anymore," Dean pointed out, closing the trunk and following them inside.

"I think I'm getting sick," Sam said. "That explains the fever."

"He _was_ throwing up yesterday," Clara agreed.

Dean made a face. "TMI. Listen, man, anything gets worse or anything new happens, you tell me. Got it? Or I'll kick your ass." He slapped his brother's shoulder and headed inside.

He ran into one of the girls – Petra, he thought – as he headed up the stairs to the Bunker.

He was getting used to telling them apart. Petra always had her hair up, either in a messy bun or a pony tail or a braid. She squeaked in surprise when she ran into him, and he steadied her.

"Hi," she breathed. "Um, River is looking for you."

"Yeah, I'll bet." He realized his hands were still on her shoulders and dropped them. He kinda didn't want to. She was warm, and smelled nice. Like sugar and oranges.

She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I should . . ."

"Yeah, me too," he said.

They walked inside together, hosting awkward chit chat.

"Bonnie went with Jack to UNIT," she mentioned. "Some Zygon crisis. Jack went along to pull some records on the Doctor."

"And Song couldn't go with them?" he sighed. "Course not. What would be the chances?"

Petra grinned. "She likes to ruffle your feathers."

"How are we coming on the search?" he asked.

"Not great," she frowned. "Every time we get close to a signal, he moves or blocks our transmissions. Probably not intentionally. He's random like that."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to randomly punch him in the face when I see him," Dean grumbled. "For what he did to Clara and for making me deal with his pain in the ass wife."

Petra grinned. "Again with the feather ruffling." She hugged her tablet to her chest. "Well. I, uh, I'd better go see if Professor Song needs any help downstairs." She waved awkwardly and started to leave.

"Uh, hey," Dean said, rubbing the back of his head. "You like _Game of Thrones_?"

Twenty minutes later, Dean was pressing the first disc of season four into his DVD player in his room. He leaned on his bed, and Petra perched on the edge, stiff and awkward.

"You can lay down," he told her, scooting over. "I don't bite."

She hesitated, but kicked the shoes off her feet and laid on the very edge of her side of the bed.

"I used to watch this with Sam and my best friend, Charlie," he said as he pressed 'play' on his remote. "Man, Charlie loved Ceresi."

"Really?" Petra looked shocked.

"Well, she liked when she took her clothes off."

Petra laughed, and snorted. She blushed bright red and slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, petrified with embarrassment, but Dean thought it was the cutest freakin' thing.

 _Jesus, man, get a grip. She may or may not be an alien._

"What house do you think you'd be in?" Dean asked, making idle conversation through the theme song.

She looked surprised at the question. "Tully."

"Baratheon."

They grinned at each other, and Dean found himself noticing little things about her face that he liked. Her teeth, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. There was a light dusting of freckles across her nose, barely noticeable unless you _really_ concentrated, and he found himself wanting to lean closer to examine her closely.

She was paying attention to the screen, putting on a cool show, but underneath, her heart was racing. She was in bed with a super hot guy. Okay, not _in_ bed, but in _bed_. And he kept glancing at her. The last time a boy had even looked at her was at the Office Christmas Party last year, and he was very drunk.

She knew she wasn't Dean's type. In the books, Dean liked tall hot women with a daddy complex and no strings. He has a lot of experience, she thought, and I've only ever been with one man.

Don't think about Tommy, she thought. Not now. You'll spoil the moment.

She took a puff from her inhaler, and Dean glanced at her.

"Do, uh, you want a drink or something?" he asked, reaching over to his mini fridge. "I have beer, and soda, and there's some whiskey under the bed."

"Oh, uhm, a soda is fine," she said, and he handed her a coke. When he sat back down he was slightly closer to her, and Petra could feel how warm he was. She had the sudden urge to lean her head on his shoulder.

Do it, she told herself. You never take any risks. Just do it. If he doesn't like it, just make something up, like you had a muscle spasm in your neck, or you fell asleep, or something, just do it you stupid girl . . .

Just as she tilted her head, there was a banging on the door.

"Dean," Sam said, opening the door. He looked puzzled to see them, but shook it off. "You better come out here."

Dean frowned, but paused the DVD. He jumped up, followed by Petra.

He followed Sam into the main room, where Cas was standing angrily, arms folded and face disapproving.

Claire and Alex were standing there. Claire was wearing all black, bold piercings and clunky combat boots, as well as a baggy jacket Dean was almost certain had gone missing from his car last time he'd seen Claire. Alex was dressed the same, only she had cut her hair into a short, chin length bob with bangs that made her look older than she was.

"What're you girls doing here?" Dean demanded.

"We were in the neighborhood," Claire snipped.

"Yes," Cas said, his voice annoyed and angry and very scary. "Because they've just joined Rowena's Mega-Coven."


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry, only one chapter tonight on account of how sick I am. I'll try and update when I'm feeling well again!**

* * *

"I can't even comprehend how stupid you're being."

Castiel knew the words were harsh, but he was furious. With Claire and Alex for joining, with Jody for letting them, and for himself for not keeping a closer eye on his vessel's child.

"Says the guy who goes running around hunting down weird crazy things with the Olsen twins," Claire retorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice thickly.

"Do you even have any idea what you've done?" Sam demanded. "Rowena is bad news. Like, the worst news. And you two just joined up?"

"We got Jody to tell us what was going on," Alex said.

"And we realized it was the perfect opportunity for us to become hunters," Claire added.

"I _warned_ you against hunting," Castiel growled. "This isn't safe."

"I don't care. Now are you guys going to shut up and listen, or what?"

Sighing, the boys shut up, and Claire crossed her arms.

"We set a trap," Alex said.

"I performed a simple 'spell' in public that went wrong," Claire said, making air quotes. "It wasn't real. It was a setup. But we made sure someone was recording it and it went on YouTube. We figured someone would see it and contact us."

"And she did," Alex said.

"She said she needed young witches she could train and that we were perfect," Claire continued. "And to meet her at this restaurant. So we showed up and she did the whole fake nice thing and offered to teach us what she knows, and we said yeah."

"It's like the perfect opportunity to get information on her," Alex said. "And she'll never know anything about us being connected with you. We told her we're orphan sisters."

"Which isn't totally untrue," Claire added.

"So she set up in a really nice hotel and stops in to give us lessons and stuff."

"Wait," Dean frowned. "How long has this been going on?"

"Like two weeks."

"Two _weeks_? Does Jody know?"

"She may or may not think we're touring colleges," Claire admitted.

"Alright, I'm calling her," Sam said, standing.

"If you guys pass up this opportunity, you're seriously dumber than I thought," Claire said. "This is _easy_. She doesn't know us. _Easy_."

"It's too dangerous," Cas grumbled.

"You can't stop us," Claire said, crossing her arms. "If we don't keep up, she'll get suspicious. She'll find out what's going on and you'll all be targets. Or, even bigger ones, I guess. Look, we're not hurting anything and if things get rough, then maybe we'll hit the bench. But otherwise, it's too late for you guys to stop us."

The boys hesitated.

"Damn it," Dean finally said.

"They're right," Cas sighed.

"We can use this," Sam said, trying to stay positive. "Girls, don't contact us directly unless something is wrong. Report in when you know she's not around for sure. If she suspects you two of anything, tell her the truth immediately."

"What?" Dean frowned.

"She's not going to kill them that way," Sam said. "They'd be too valuable."

"I don't like this," Castiel said.

"You're not my dad," Claire said flatly. "So chill out. We gotta get back to the hotel." She looked at Alex, who nodded.

"Girls, you need to be super careful on this," Sam warned. "This isn't a game. Alright?"

"Yeah, okay," Claire said, trying to be serious. Alex nodded.

They left, and the boys looked at each other.

"What else could we do?" Dean asked. "They won't stop no matter what."

"They're just like Charlie," Sam agreed.

"Well, they're strong," Cas admitted. "If they need us, they need only call. Or pray."

"Yeah, that'll be the day," Dean muttered, heading for the kitchen, thinking about getting drunk.

* * *

Sam headed upstairs later that evening, grabbing the keys to the Impala and making for the garage. He had a folded up list in his back pocket. Milk, eggs, bread, bullets, orange juice, toilet paper, etc. The usual. Dean and Clara wanted him to stay in and rest until his cold was gone, but he had to get out of the Bunker for a while. Between River and Dean arguing and Clara helping Osgood with her Doctor Search, he couldn't take the tension.

He got in the car and left, the radio set to some modern day rock station he liked. He rolled down the window, and relaxed.

"Turn that crap off," said a voice behind him, and Sam jumped, swerving. He looked over at the passenger seat, and his eyes widened.

" _Bobby_?"

"The _road_ , genius!" Bobby grabbed the steering wheel, yanking them out of the way just in time as a car rushed by, laying on the horn.

Sam hit the brakes, bringing them to a screeching stop on the side of the road.

"What – how – ?" Sam was at a loss for words, and in shock. What the hell? He shook his head. "This cold is _way_ worse than I thought."

"Do I _look_ like some NyQuil induced hallucination?" Bobby grumped, looking offended.

"Seriously, what the hell. First dad and now you're here?"

"I think a simple, 'Hey Bobby, how ya been?' would be fine," the older hunter grumbled.

"I mean, yeah, it's great to see you," Sam said quickly. "Better than great, actually. I – I miss you, Bobby."

Bobby softened, looking touched, and fought that small, pleased grin he'd get when he was happy. "Alright, don't get all sappy on me now," he said. "You said John was here?"

"Yeah, I guess I dreamed it. Dean said not to read into it much, but –"

"Dean's an idjit. Don't you ever ignore a dream about your old man. And you tell your brother that, too. Don't ever ignore a dream about a loved one, they always got some kind of hidden meaning or message or something in the likes."

Sam hesitated. "Are you going to give me a hidden message?"

"Well if I gave it to you it wouldn't be hidden, would it? Jesus, Sam, you're the smart one. Think about things a bit more."

"Okay," Sam nodded, concentrating. "I asked God for a sign and he sent me visions of the Cage. And then Dad . . . he didn't tell me much. And now you're here."

"Connections," Bobby said, leaning back into the seat. "Make 'em."

"Well, you're both dead."

Bobby chuckled humorlessly. "Thanks for the reminder."

"And you're both important to me."

"Keep going."

Sam hesitated. "And I feel responsible for both of your deaths."

Bobby said nothing.

"Is that it?" Sam asked. "Is this some kind of crazy guilt trip? But what would that mean? Why would God want me to feel guilty?"

"He works in mysterious ways and yadda yadda," Bobby said. "Best I can tell you, Sam, is listen to what your ghosts come to tell ya and keep it to yourself. If your brother can't handle it, fine. You're strong enough to handle it alone."

"Okay," Sam nodded. "Alright. So, should I just wait for these visions or dreams or whatever, or will they just happen?"

"How should I know?" Bobby shrugged. "I'm just going where I'm needed."

Sam frowned, thinking. He was surprised when Bobby clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," his foster father said, looking into his eyes. "I'm proud of you, kid."

Sam smiled and he suddenly felt very content. He never heard those words, and when he did, they meant the world to him. "Thanks, Bobby."

There was a sharp rapping on the window, and Sam looked at it, startled.

"You alright, sir?" a local police officer was looking in through the window. "Dangerous place to be stopped."

"Yeah, uh, just . . ." he looked to the passenger seat, but Bobby was gone. "Just had to make a phone call. I'll get going now."

He started back down the road, mind drifting as he tried to figure out what the hell God was trying to tell him, and why he had to dig up his worst memories to do it.


	19. Chapter 19

**First of all, a big sarcastic "Thank you" to the writers of Supernatural, who obviously telepathically stole my (SPOILERS) It's-Lucifer-Not-God-Sending-Visions thing. (It was a good episode though. Bravo). I will be continuing the story line of MY story, though.**

 **Second, fuck you, Moffat.**

 **And Third, sorry I was gone for so long. For those of you who don't know, I suffer from depression and when I get down, I stay down, sometimes for a few days or longer. I'm working on it though.**

 **So back to the story!**

* * *

Dean was relaxing on the sofa when he noticed something.

Clara, Petra, Cas, River, and the newly returned Jack and Bonnie were all downstairs. Clara and River were talking in hushed voices, Cas was flipping through the pages of a book, and the Osgoods were on a computer with Jack hovering, pointing things out.

That meant Sam was alone.

Dean jumped up – _finally_. He'd been trying to catch his brother alone since they got back from New Orleans three days ago, but Sam knew Dean would try and grill him so he always hid behind an excuse, usually Clara. Now Dean headed down towards the bedrooms, and found Sam sitting on the bed, rubbing his head.

"Hey," Dean said, and Sam jumped, startled, and knew he'd been caught.

"Hey," he replied nonchalantly, standing. "I was just going to –"

"No you weren't. Sit your ass down." Dean stood in the door way and crossed his arms.

Sam glared for a minute, but sighed and sat back down.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dean finally said after a few awkward moments.

"About what?"

"Cut the crap, Sam. Clara told me about what went down in New Orleans."

Sam wasn't surprised, but that didn't make it any easier to think about. "Did you tell her?" he asked quietly.

"No," Dean said, crossing the room to straddle the chair near Sam's bed. He leaned on the back. "That's your story to tell if you want."

"It was . . . everywhere," Sam said after a moment, swallowing. "The floor, the walls, the ceiling . . . she _wrote_ with it."

"What'd it say?"

"It said that she knew."

Dean nodded, looking away. "How?"

"I don't know. I don't have any idea who would have told her."

"Alright, let's go down the list," Dean said, leaning back and thinking. "Besides for me and Cas, there's Crowley . . ."

"Who wouldn't tell her, because he said himself he needs me focused," Sam pointed out.

"And it wasn't in the books," Dean continued, rubbing his chin. "Who else?"

"Just Ruby and the angels, a few demons."

"The angels," Dean murmured. "You think she's got one on the payroll?"

"Well, it wouldn't be surprising. They've worked for Crowley before," Sam agreed slowly. "But only a few of the higher up angels knew. Most, if not all, of them are dead."

"Yeah, well, we know one who's not."

Sam frowned, and then eyes widened. "You think Rowena spoke to Lucifer?"

"I don't know, man. We can't rule it out. All the mojo she sucked in from that damn book . . . who knows what was in it?"

"Charlie," Sam said quietly, and Dean went quiet.

"It wasn't your fault," Dean finally said, not looking at his brother. "What I said –"

"It was my fault and I know it," Sam cut him off, standing. "No use on dwelling, I guess."

He started to leave.

"Hey," Dean called, and Sam stopped. "You didn't . . ."

"No," Sam said not looking at him. "I left the room before I couple. But I won't lie to you, Dean – it was close. Real close."

He left, and Dean sighed heavily, almost considering praying for a moment before he remembered that no one up there gave a damn about him or his brother.

* * *

". . . Don't know what that damn space monkey was thinking just dropping you off in the middle of the States like that! You could have been hurt, or lost, or picked up by a serial murderer. They have a lot of those in America, you know. I watched a show about it on the telly."

Clara smiled into the phone. "It's fine, Nan, I'm fine."

"Only because the nice monster hunters found you before some freak did!"

"Most people would consider the monster hunters the freaks."

"Well how dare you consider me anything like most people."

Clara grinned broadly at that. "I miss you."

"Oh, I miss you too, dear. When will you come home?"

"Not sure," Clara said, leaning against the kitchen counter. She smiled and waved when Sam came in. "I'm pretty wrapped up here at the moment. Will you be alright?"

"Don't you worry about me, darling, I'm always alright. But that father of yours, I swear. He'll drive me right out of my mind! Trying to cook for himself. He dries to roast out!"

Clara laughed, and Sam smiled as he poured some juice. He loved that sound.

"I'd better get going," Clara said. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Clara. I'll see you soon, dear. Goodbye."

Clara hung up and Sam handed her a glass. Clara sipped at the drink and sighed.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked as he drained his own glass. Clara had noticed how thirsty he was lately, but she said nothing.

"Yeah, just my Nan giving my Dad hell," Clara grinned. "So the same old. I'm just not there to mediate this time."

"Do you need to go home?"

"What, and leave you here so you can go out and find some hot blonde named Brittney or something?" Clara sat on the counter, pulling Sam closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Not a chance."

Sam smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Clara couldn't keep it in anymore.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "I don't want to pry, but ever since New Orleans you've been acting strange, and you're so thirsty, and I _don't_ think you have a cold. Hey," she said, taking his hand when he looked away. "Talk to me."

Sam sighed, and decided the best thing to do was be straight forward. He hoped she wouldn't be too repulsed. "Clara, I used to be a junkie."

She paused, not sure what to say. She had thought it would be much worse than that. "Okay," she said. "No big deal."

"I wasn't addicted to drugs." He took a deep breath. "I was addicted to demons blood."

"Oh." _Oh_. She took a deep breath. "Like – injecting it?"

"Drinking it."

"I see. Um, why?"

He took her hand and guided her to the table, sitting down and explaining the whole situation. Yellow Eyes, Ruby, Lucifer, all of it. He went to his darkest places and described it and for a few moments thought he'd be sick himself. When he was finished, though, Clara was still there, a distant look on her face, her hand still clutching his.

"That's why Rowena killed those demons in New Orleans," Clara said. "To try and get you to – to relapse?"

"I think so, yeah," he nodded.

Clara was quiet for several long moments, and Sam knew what was coming next. He had horrified her, and she'd tell him as much any moment now, and then she'd leave. His heart pounded as he waited for the words to come out of her mouth. He was shocked at what she said when she actually did speak.

"Well, we just won't let you."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Relapse. We won't let you. We'll take special precautions on hunts and make sure it doesn't happen again. If it does, Dean or Cas or I will stop you."

He looked at her, unable to comprehend how insane she was. "I just told you all that, about what I've done, and you're . . . still okay with me?"

"Okay with you? Why would I not be?" Her eyebrows furrowed together. "I'm not going to let your past determine how I feel about you. You've been manipulated, and controlled, and if anything I just feel closer to you now."

He was staring at her, his eyes intense and his face showing a mixture of shock and joy and . . . something else.

"What?" Clara asked. Had that been too much?

"Clara," he said, shaking his head. "I love you."


	20. Chapter 20

Clara pushed open the door to the diner, looking around as she shed her coat. She caught sight of Crowley, sitting at the bar with a mug of coffee, and joined him.

He looked surprised. "You," he frowned. "I wasn't expecting _you_."

"Yes, well, Sam's not feeling well," she said, laying her coat on the stool beside her. She ordered a coffee, and sat down.

"Because of the blood?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. "That was days ago, he should be fine."

"It was a lot of blood," Clara reminded him. "But that's not his problem. He's having visions. Of the Cage. He thinks they're from God."

"God?" Crowley chuckled. "I thought the Winchesters knew better to believe in God."

"You don't think he's real?" Clara asked as the waitress laid a cup of coffee in front of her.

"I know he is," the demon replied. "I just don't believe _in_ him. No one should. I grew up without God; the Winchesters grew up without God. Sam is so desperate to fix his mistake that he turned to a figure that might as well have been pissing on him for all he cared."

"I can't say I know how Sam felt – I don't have any siblings," Clara said. "But I imagine if I did, I would have done the exact same thing he'd done in order to save them."

"Yes, I have a feeling you've made quite a few sacrifices in your days, Miss Oswald," Crowley said, taking another sip of coffee.

Clara frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I did my digging," he retorted. "And apparently people think you travel around time and space with an alien called the Doctor. Now, a time machine. I can't even imagine where I'd start with something like that."

"Yeah, well, don't get too excited," Clara said, staring at her coffee. "He left me."

"Condolences."

"Thanks." She tucked some hair behind her ear. "Anyway, we did some following up on Rowena. She's in Europe. We're not entirely sure where or what for, just that she'll be back within the next few days. Two people were found dead behind JFK airport – a husband and wife on their honeymoon. They tore each other to shreds. Looks like an attack dog spell. I have a friend in New York who's going to check on it before he heads back to the Bunker. That's all we've got." She counted out a few bills from her wallet, tossing it on the counter. She finished her coffee and stood.

"I could help you find your friend," Crowley mentioned as she shrugged her coat on. Clara hesitated, obviously intrigued.

"Of course, I'd need something in exchange," he continued.

Clara frowned. "Alright, like what?"

The diner door opened, and Dean entered, a few grocery bags in hand. Crowley was annoyed, but he should have known there'd be a Winchester close by.

"We need to get going," he said, joining Clara. "Cas just called and said he had to take Sam to the hospital."

* * *

"Mr. Winchester, your brother is running a high grade fever and is severely dehydrated," the doctor told Dean, who stood outside of Sam's hospital room. "We've got him on fluids and we're working on getting the fever down. It looks like it could be a rather bad case of the flu." He handed him a clipboard. "Please fill this out, and give it to the nurse at reception."

Dean nodded and headed back into the room, tossing the clipboard aside momentarily. Clara dabbed at Sam's forehead with a cool, wet rag, though Sam was protesting.

"I'm fine," he was complaining. "I want to go home."

"You're not goin' anywhere," Dean said, stretching out on the couch in the room. "Doc says you're dehydrated. You need to get some fluids in you."

"I hate hospitals."

"Yeah, I know," Dean sighed, grabbing the clipboard and flipping through the papers. "But you just try and get better. I'll take over on the whole Rowena Crowley thing for now. Cas'll be at the Bunker, the Captain's checking out the lead in New York, and Petra – um, Osgood – is keeping up on the search for the Doctor with Song."

"Dean –"

"Shut up and go to sleep, Sammy," Dean said.

"I'm going to go and get you some ice," Clara told Sam, stroking his hair back. "I'll be back."

She left, and Sam sighed, laying back against the pillows.

Dean waited a moment, and without looking up, said, "Am I sensing some tension there?"

Sam sighed again. "I told her I love her."

Dean stopped writing and looked up. "Come again?"

"You heard me." He pressed his palms against his eyes. "I freaked her out. I know it."

"Nah, I'm sure it's nothing," Dean said. "Maybe she's just shy or something. About feelings. That's probably it."

"We've been sleeping together for a month –"

"Oh, I know," Dean grimaced. "You guys are _not_ quiet."

"And we've just gotten really close, so I meant it," Sam continued. "But she seemed less than excited when I told her."

"She's probably just down about looking for the Doctor," Dean said, trying to reassuring. Not his strong suit. "She'll come around. If she didn't have a thing for you, I mean, she wouldn't be at your sickbed."

Sam sighed, looking away. Maybe his brother was right. Maybe she was just preoccupied.

* * *

Clara took a deep breath at the ice machine, waiting as her cup was slowly filled.

Why was she so bad at relationships? She and Danny had been complicated, to say the least. She'd even had her arguments with Jane, while that lasted. But Sam? Someone she felt something genuine for?

She tried to tell herself she didn't love him, but every time all she could think about is how gentle he was when he held her, how supportive he was of her independence . . . how much they needed each other.

Who says "Thank you" when someone says they love you, anyway? God, how embarrassing. For both of them.

"I love you," Clara practiced under her breath. "Sam Winchester, I love you." She cleared her throat. "I love you! _I_ love _you_. I _love_ you."

"Are you professing your love to that ice machine?"

Clara yelped and jumped, laying a hand over her heart.

"Castiel!" she breathed. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt the moment with your . . . friend here."

"No, I . . ." she sighed. "Sam told me he loved me and I chickened out of telling him that I felt the same way. So I was practicing."

Cas frowned. "With an ice machine?"

"Forget the ice machine!" she turned it off, laying the ice aside as she pulled Cas over to sit down with her. "Listen, have you ever felt really, really strongly about someone but wasn't sure about whether or not you actually loved them until they said something themselves? And then you knew you loved them, but you didn't know how to say it back? Like you were petrified to say anything?"

"No."

She sighed.

"There was . . . one person," Cas continued after a moment. "A demon."

"You were in love with a demon?" Clara raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not sure I would call it love," he frowned. "It was . . . complicated. I loved her in the sense of how someone feels about someone who goes out of their way to make sure the other is protected. She kept me safe for a while, while I was . . . indisposed."

"What happened to her?" Clara asked, wondering why she'd never seen this woman.

"As I understand, Crowley killed her."

If Clara had disliked Crowley before, she hated him now. Why did he _do_ this to them?

"She apparently revealed her feelings for me to Sam before she was killed," Castiel continued. "I . . . regret that she didn't get to tell me personally."

"What would you have said?"

"I don't know. But I think that's how it should be. Not planned, you know? What is love if not spontaneous?"

Clara blinked. "You're right," she said. She leaned forward, hugging him around the shoulders. Castiel awkwardly patted her back, and she pulled away.

"Where are you going?" Cas called as she ran down the hall.

"To be spontaneous!"

"I . . . don't think that's how it works," Cas frowned as he stared at the left behind ice.


	21. Chapter 21

Clara entered the hospital room, but stopped when she saw Sam. He was sleeping soundly, and she took the moment to take a good look at him.

He was so pale, she thought, frowning. His eyes had dark circles under them, and he was getting to be too thin. Clara's stomach lurched, and she suddenly felt very sick herself.

Dean tapped her shoulder, nodding towards the hallway. She nodded and followed, closing the door behind him.

"What happened?" Clara asked. "He was fine a few minutes ago."

"Guess conversation wore him out," Dean replied.

"Have you ever seen him like this?"

"Yeah. Once." Dean's gaze darkened. "If this is God's idea of giving Sam a sign, he's doing a crappy job at it. I don't even know what I can do for Sam here, so I'm going to check out a lead on Amara. If anyone knows anything about the way God works, it's her."

"Or Lucifer," Clara muttered.

Dean grimaced. "Don't go there. Cas will be here if you need anything. I shouldn't be gone longer than a day. If anything changes, call me, okay?"

"Okay," Clara said softly. She swallowed. "Dean, I'm a little scared."

He wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her head on his chest. He held her for a few moments. "I am, too," he finally sighed.

He kissed the top of her head and left, and Clara looked in through the window of Sam's room. If he kept on like this he'd get weaker and weaker until – until what? Until he couldn't fight anymore, or wouldn't? She shivered, unable to think about what would happened without the Winchesters to save the world.

She found Cas, and told him she was going back to the bunker to get a few things. He agreed, believing her. Clara felt bad about lying, but she wasn't sure what else to do.

She had Sam's phone in her pocket; hopefully he wouldn't wake up and notice it was missing. As she left the hospital, she sent a quick text.

 _Hospital parking lot. Can u meet?_

She waited a moment as she entered the underground parking lot. It was cold, and there was no one around, but she knew this would be the ideal meeting spot.

"I wondered how Sam would be able to send a text to meet down here," Crowley said behind her, and she turned.

"I borrowed his phone," she said.

"Obviously," he raised his eyebrows. "We just saw each other not two hours ago. Just can't stay away, eh?"

"I need you to help me," she said.

"With what?" he humored her.

"I need to speak to Lucifer."

Crowley was stunned into silence for several long moments. "If one of the boys put you up to this –"

"No. It's just me," she replied. "The only way these visions will stop is if I find out what God wants Sam to do with Lucifer. There's no way Sam can do it right now, but eventually he's going to try. I need to do it first. If I go ahead and find out what the hell is going on, Sam won't have to, and he can get better."

Crowley rubbed his chin, thinking. "It wouldn't be easy," he said. "I'd have to put a lot of work into it. Posting guards, writing sigils, keeping his power at a low. The preparation wouldn't take too long, of course, but the risk would be astronomical."

"Why?" she frowned.

"Because if Lucifer gets out, it's all over," he snapped. "Try and keep up." He paused. "I suppose I could help you, though. Of course, I'd have to be paid for such a deed."

"Fine," she agreed. "Anything you need. Just do it."

He raised his eyebrows. "It's a high price, Miss Oswald. Are you sure you're prepared to pay it? A _soul_ is a difficult thing to come by, after all."

"A . . . soul?" Her hand went to her chest out of instinct. "Mine? But . . . why? Mine's not worth anything."

"One mans junk," Crowley remarked, bemused.

"And what would trading my soul mean, exactly?"

"Oh, not much," Crowley said leisurely, shoving his hands in his pockets. "In a few years, I'd collect my payment."

"How many years?"

"Normally it's ten. However, this is something rather more expensive . . ."

"How many years, Crowley?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'd be willing to give you three."

 _Three_. Three years. Alright, that wasn't so bad. You can do a lot in three years. And it would be worth it. Sam and Dean were worth it. The world was worth it.

"I understand if you need to consider –"

"No. I'll do it," Clara said. "It'll be worth it, yeah?"

"That completely depends on you."

"Alright. Okay." She nodded. "Do it."

"It takes two to tango." He offered her his hand. Frowning, she took it, but instead of shaking her hand, he pulled her to him. He grabbed the back of her neck and forcefully pressed his lips on hers. Clara's eyes widened in shock for a moment, unable to comprehend what was going on. Crowley pulled away, though, smirking.

"Let's get started," he said, and with a snap of his fingers, they disappeared.


	22. Chapter 22

**Warning. Potential spoilers for season 9 of Doctor Who in upcoming chapters. Proceed with Caution.**

* * *

 _Clara, don't._ A flash of a familiar looking coat. The sound of someone running. Running. Always running.

 _Run, you clever boy . . ._

What was that . . . croaking? Like a . . . what? Where had she heard it? It was so dark. Thoughts jumbled. Run. Run. Run, Clara, run. Time. No time. Run!

Wings in her ears. Dark, shiny black wings, flying over her. A crow? No.

A raven.

 _I don't know where I am._

 _Run, Clara!_

 _Please._

 _RUN!_

 _I don't know where I am!_

Clara gasped, opening her eyes, trying desperately to catch her breath.

"You zoned out for a moment." Crowley. That was Crowley. But the Doctor. For a moment . . . no. Was it? It couldn't have been.

"My head feels funny," she said, rubbing her temples.

"Some people have that reaction upon first entering hell," Crowley assured her.

Hell. She was in the actual, _real_ Hell. She looked around. It was dark and gloomy and _Hellish_. Well, what did she expect?

"Follow me," Crowley said.

She followed him, flinching occasionally as a loud clap of thunder would sound over them. She had thought Hell would be hot, but it was almost unbearably cold. She wished she'd brought a coat. Such are the things you think of as you follow the demon King of Hell through his kingdom and into almost certain doom.

He stopped at a large, steel door. Two men were stationed outside of it, and he shooed them away. He unlocked the door and entered.

It was a large, dark enclosure. In the middle of the area, there was a giant cage.

"I didn't think it'd be an actual cage."

"Yes, I suppose Sam left that part out," Crowley said. "Michael and Lucifer are on separate planes of the Cage. They'd get into nothing but trouble if they were on the same one. You'll be entering Lucifer's plane. He's not very friendly at first, but I'm sure he'll perk up when you mention who you're representing."

"Alright," Clara nodded. "How do I get in?"

She blinked, and it took her a moment to realize she had moved from beside Crowley to inside the Cage.

She approached the bars, holding them and looking out at Crowley, who raised an eyebrow. "Lucifer brought you in."

"He – what?"

"If a human is in vicinity of the Cage, he can bring them in with him. That's why Dean is so reluctant for Sam to come down here. Getting you out would be a different measure. Let me know when you're finished with him and I'll let you out."

"Alright," she breathed.

"Good luck," Crowley said, and there was something in his face that Clara found extremely unsettling.

Clara swallowed and turned around, looking around the small Cage, but she didn't see anyone. She frowned, stepping forward, and immediately regretted it when she could feel breath on the back of her neck. When she turned, no one was there.

"You're not exactly who I was expecting." She spun around again, only to find a man leaning against the bars of the cage, at ease, relaxed even, with an amused yet confused expression.

"You're not . . ." she began, not knowing what to say.

He raised his eyebrows. "Not what?" he asked. "Not the Devil? Not some big scary red guy with horns and a pitchfork? I _can_ be, if you want."

"No, this is fine," she said quickly. "I just didn't expect you to look so . . . normal."

"No one does," he shrugged. "You look normal, but you're not."

"How do you know that, then?" she frowned.

He chuckled. "You're standing in a cage made to hold the most dangerous thing in creation," he said. "That ain't normal, honey."

"You're actually him," she shuddered. "You're _actually_ Lucifer."

He spread his arms. "I actually am."

Clara flinched when he stepped forward, and his eyes flashed with amusement. "Aw, what's the matter, girlie?" he asked, backing her up against the cage. He pinned her against it, bracing himself in front of her with his arms and smirking. "Afraid of ol' Luci?"

"No," she said, but it didn't sound as brave as it did in her head.

"Sure," he grinned, pushing away from the wall. "So, what brings you to _mi casa_?"

"My name is Clara," she began. "I'm a . . . friend of Sam Winchester."

His eyes lit up, and he suddenly looked very excited. "My old bestie? He _has_ been listening, then?"

"Listening?"

"Why do I get the feeling, though," he started, looking her up and down. "That you're not just a friend, Clara?"

"I, um, we're not . . ."

" _C'mon_. Cute little thing like you, all British and brave coming down here?" he laughed. "You're his. He must be _desperate_ to send you."

"He doesn't know I'm here," Clara said. "He's not well."

This seemed to interest Lucifer. "Oh, really?"

"Sam and Dean are working against something called the Darkness," she began.

"My favorite auntie," Lucifer said. "Go on, keep going."

"Well, when the Darkness appeared, he started having problems. He's been getting these . . . visions, of the Cage," she began. "Of his time down here. He thinks they're from God, that he's telling him to come ask you about how to defeat the Darkness."

Lucifer looked thoroughly amused. "Does he?"

"Yes, and these visions are making him sick," she continued. "He can't sleep, or eat, and to make things worse, there's this witch who has somehow found out about his former blood addiction and . . ." she slowed down, pausing when she saw Lucifer's expression – totally unsurprised and amused, watching her babble, with his hand under his chin. And slowly, Clara began to understand.

"And . . . you already know all this," she said slowly, her heart beating faster. "Because you told Rowena about the blood."

His smile widened. "Go on."

"And . . . because God isn't sending him the visions." _No, God, no. No, this isn't happening._ "You are."

Lucifer grinned broadly and winked. "Bingo."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. How?"

"Oh, a little witch helped me," Lucifer said, leisurely strolling around the Cage. "When she lived down her with her son. She told me all _sorts_ of neat things. And she even helped me break the Cage, and boosted my power. So, even though I can't escape, I can send people little messages . . . or visions."

"Why?" she asked, panicked.

"Why not?" he asked. "It gets lonely down here. And so boring. So, half of it? Entertainment. The other half . . ." his eyes darkened. "I want out of this piss hole. Only, I have a little problem."

"What?" she asked weakly.

" _Wellllll_ , I expected Sam to come down here himself," Lucifer said. "I figured, hey, he'll be weak, weak enough that just _a little bit_ of torture and he'd agree to giving me a ride out of here. But he didn't come. _You_ did."

"Crowley!" Clara called over her shoulder as Lucifer walked closer.

"So I guess I'll just have to make due," the angel continued.

"Crowley, get me out!" Clara called desperately.

"Oh, he can't hear you," Lucifer promised. "And, he won't be getting you out. I may not be strong enough to get out, but I'm strong enough to keep _him_ out." He grinned, shaking his head. "Sam Winchester's girlfriend. This is so much better than I ever could have hoped." He raised his eyebrows. "Poor Sam. He was always so bad at sharing. But, I guess now that you're here, you belong to me. And I haven't had a playmate in so long. We're going to have _so_ much fun together, Clara. Well, I will, anyway." He thought for a moment. "You know that creepy neighborhood kid that's always being an asshole, stomping anthills and ripping the wings off parakeets?" He pointed at himself. "Kid." Then he pointed at her. "Parakeet."

"I'm not scared of you," she swore. "I've faced worse."

He smiled, reaching up and touching the side of her face. Clara felt a wave of excruciating pain and nausea come over her, and she held her breath, trying to keep from crying out.

"Oh, sweetie," he said, and the pain got increasingly worse. "You really haven't."


	23. Chapter 23

"You _what_?!"

"Keep it down!"

Castiel considered smiting Crowley right there in the underground parking lot at the hospital. But if he did that, they'd be in an even worse situation than they already were.

If that was possible.

"You let her into the Cage?" Castiel demanded. "With _Lucifer_?"

"No, with the bloody Easter Bunny!" Crowley snapped. "Yes, with Lucifer!"

"This is beneath even you, Crowley," Castiel said lowly.

"She practically begged me!" he retorted. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Say ' _no_ '!"

"I was trying to save Sam!" Crowley argued. "A 'thank you' would be fine!"

"You put Clara in the Cage, and now you can't even get her out!" Castiel really wanted to give into his smiting urges. _Think of Clara_ , he told himself. Y _ou have to get her out, first. Then, a smiting spree.  
_

"Lucifer is stronger than I anticipated," Crowley told him. "I couldn't get her back out. That's all there is to it. Now, instead of blaming one another, we should be trying to resolve the problem! Now, I'm going to try and track down Rowena, and you tell Sam –"

Castiel grabbed the demons arm. " _You_ will tell Sam. This is your mess."

"Tell me what?"

Castiel turned, in shock. "Sam!"

Sam was standing there, still looking gaunt, but better. He was pulling on a Carhardt coat and scratching at his hospital band.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel demanded.

"I got released," Sam frowned. "Yeah, I don't know. The visions just all of the sudden stopped last night, the fever disappeared and I was able to get hydrated again. Doc just let me out, Dean's upstairs filling out the paperwork." He frowned. "Crowley. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was leaving –"

"Alright, we're good to go," Dean said as he joined them. "Here's a pamphlet on staying hydrated and healthy." He frowned, looking around. "Where's Clara?"

"Yeah, I was wondering, too," Sam frowned. "She was going to get stuff from the Bunker last night. Didn't she get back?"

"She never made it to the Bunker," Cas said reluctantly. "Crowley got to her first."

" _She_ called _me_!"

"Wait, what's going on?" Dean demanded.

"Clara asked Crowley to take her to speak with Lucifer," Cas sighed.

"What?" Sam and Dean demanded at the same of time, and Cas saw fists clenching and grabbing for weapons.

No one was expecting Sam to move so fast; especially not as weak as he was. But in a matter of seconds, he had grabbed Crowley by the front of his shirt and lifted him, slamming him against the wall. Dean held the demon killing knife to Crowley's throat, and for a moment Castiel allowed himself to appreciate the Winchester Brother teamwork.

"Where is she now?" Sam demanded, slamming Crowley against the wall harder.

"Don't kill him," Cas warned. "We'll need him."

"For what?" Dean asked without looking away. "What did he do?"

"He got her into the Cage," Cas said carefully. "And now he can't get her out."

In shock, Sam dropped the demon, stepping away. "No. No." He slumped against a car, eyes wide. "No, he, he's not powerful!" he said. "Lucifer isn't that strong, he can't have . . ."

"It seems there has been a breach in the Cage," Crowley said, standing up straight. "I heard a bit of the conversation. Looks like it wasn't God sending you the visions, Sam."

"No," Sam said, grabbing his forehead. "This isn't happening. It's not happening."

"Lucifer was sending the visions?" Dean demanded.

"Yes. And told mother about the demons blood. He wanted Sam weak, so when he came to the Cage he would be easy to manipulate."

"Oh God," Sam said, staring off into space. "Clara. He'll kill her."

Castiel hesitated, not wanting to continue, but knowing he had to. "He won't kill her," he said.

"How can you be sure?" Sam demanded.

"Because," Crowley said. "After he blocked me from hearing or seeing anything, he must have been enjoying himself because when I left, I heard . . ."

"You heard what?" Dean snapped.

"Lucifer laughing," Crowley said. "And Clara screaming."

* * *

Clara opened her eyes, sitting up straight and gasping. Lucifer. Where was he?

She looked around, but frowned. She wasn't in the Cage. She was in her bed, on the TARDIS.

She breathed deeply, looking around. Her clothes for the day were folded neatly on the desk. She was wearing her favorite pajamas. Everything was normal.

She yawned, sitting up and grabbing her robe, wrapping herself in it. What a bizarre dream. Something about monsters and boys and the devil.

"You've gotta go to some nicer planets, Oswald," she mumbled.

She slid her feet into her slippers, opening the door and making her way towards the center console. She yawned again.

"Doctor?" she called over the yawn.

"Yes, down here!" he called, his accented voice coming from below the TARDIS console.

Clara laid on the floor, leaning down and looking at him. He had a blowtorch in one hand, a few wires in the other, and his sonic sunglasses on his face.

"Should you be using that?" she asked.

"It's perfectly fine!" he assured her, jumping when he hit the button on the torch. "Yowch! Ah, eyebrows. Who needs eyebrows? I don't. Didn't last regeneration."

"I like your bushy eyebrows," she told him. "Is there coffee?"

"In the kitchen."

"Good." She sat up and headed for the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She yelped, startled, when something flew over her head.

She looked up at the rafters, frowning. A large, black raven was sitting there, cocking its head and looking at her. Frowning, Clara headed back to the console.

"Doctor," she called. "We've got to stop leaving the door open, birds are getting in!"

"Noted!" he called, crawling back up and jumping to his feet. "There we go. That should do it."

"Do what?" she asked as he ran around the TARDIS.

"It!" he called, and Clara laughed.

She heard that awful croaking again, and looked up. Two more ravens were sitting on the console.

"More of them!" she said. "Where on earth are they coming from?"

"What?" the Doctor asked, flipping some switches.

"The ravens! Look, don't you see them?"

The Doctor looked where she was pointing, but frowned, looking at her. He held a hand to her forehead. "Are you alright, Clara? Maybe you should go back to bed."

"No, Doctor they're there!" she looked back, and cried out in surprise. "Now there's four! There's more of them! Doctor, what's going on?"

"Don't you know?" he asked.

"Know what?" she asked.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "You're going to die."

Clara blinked. "What? No I'm not."

"You are," he promised, and took her hand. "You have to face the raven, or die."

"What does that mean?"

"You don't know?"

"Stop saying that!" she cried.

"She doesn't know," said a familiar voice, and she turned. Her breath caught in her chest, and a tear fell down her face.

" _Mum_?"

"She has to face the raven," her mother said. "Clara, swear to it. Will you face it? Tell me you will, darling. Tell me you will so you'll be safe."

"Tell you what?" Clara sobbed.

"Tell me yes! Tell me that yes, you'll face the raven!"

"No," she said, backing up. "No, no, I want to be brave."

"Clara!"

"I just want to be brave . . ."

"Say yes, Clara!"

"No! _Let me be brave!"_

The scene evaporated, and it took a moment for Clara's eyes to adjust to the dark. She blinked rapidly, tears streaking down her face. She sat up and her head swam as she tried to remember. She was somewhere else. Not the TARDIS. No, the Cage.

"You're tough, I'll give you that." Lucifer leaned down, balancing on the balls of his feet. "All that psychological crap worked on Sam great, all the time. But I get the feeling you've been through some weird stuff. Space, other lives. Blah blah blah. Oh well." He stood and started rolling up his sleeves. "I guess we'll have to do this the old fashioned way."


	24. Chapter 24

**Short chapter! Hope it's worth it! ;)**

* * *

"Move it, people! Faster, faster! Every second we wait is another second Clara Oswald is stuck in that pit!"

Jack Harkness was in what his friends used to call "Torchwood Mode." He took over and barked orders, staying calm while still using every resource he had available.

If the mission to find the Doctor had been important before, now it was necessary.

"Osgood, what's the word from UNIT?" he called as he used every Torchwood camera available at once to scout out the Earth.

"No new reports, he's not on Earth," Osgood reported.

"Gwen, tell me you've got something from our friends at the Shadow Proclamation," Jack said, hitting the com device in his ear.

"Nothing yet, Jack, we're still waiting on word from them," she replied.

"Any luck on finding Me?"

"No, she's totally underground."

"Keep looking."

"Got it."

"River, how're those vortex manipulators coming?" he asked.

"Slowly but surely," she said. "I'll be online in an hour."

"Make it a half hour," Jack said.

Sam was calling every contact he had about trying to find Rowena, trying to remain as calm as possible. In reality, he knew that the reason he wasn't having visions was because Lucifer was too busy.

He was horrified to even think about what Lucifer could be doing.

Dean was hovering over River, passing her tools as she explained what she was doing as she went along.

"I'm going to connect Jack's vortex manipulator's with mine," she explained, "and use them to dispatch a message – Jack's will make sure it gets through space, mine through time, that way he won't be able to miss the message. The computer will amplify the power of the manipulators to get the message sent. I'll include coordinates, and a message so who'll know who's contacting him."

"And you're sure he'll come?" Jack asked as he entered the basement, where Dean and River worked on the large computer.

"He's never ignored my little messages before," River assured him. "If he does, then we have to assume the worst."

She sat back after another few minutes of work, heading for the computer and lifting the connected vortex manipulators onto the console. She wired them into the computer, and took a deep breath. "Alright. Dean, power the computer up."

Dean nodded and flipped a switch. Various lights and bulbs began blinking. A screen lit up.

"I'm going to input the message now," she said. "This is how it'll appear to him."

The screen flashed red and yellow, with the bunker's coordinates flashing and the words "Danger, Danger" flashing.

"The message has to be short and to the point," Jack said. "Make him know it's from you."

River thought for a moment, and then typed in one word, which appeared blinking on the screen below the coordinates.

 **YOWZAH.**

"Alright, here we go," River said. "Jack, Dean, press the middle button on the vortex manipulators on the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!"

They hit the buttons, and River hit "Enter" on the keyboard. The lights in the bunker went crazy, and the electricity faltered for a few moments, before everything returned to normal. Then the electric cut off completely. The computer turned off, and the vortex manipulators were shot, smoking and charred.

They were all quiet for several long moments. Then, finally, Dean asked, "Did it work?"

"I don't know," River said, examining the vortex manipulators.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, and Dean rushed up the steps, followed by Jack and River. They slid to a stop, though, eyes wide.

Sam and Dean stared in awe. Jack laughed, and River smiled.

The TARDIS sat in the middle of the room, the only beacon of light in the Bunker, smoke curling off it.

The door opened.

"Hello, sweetie," River smiled.


	25. Chapter 25

" _You_."

The Doctor looked at Jack with a sense of shock and annoyance. Every time he saw the Captain, he was reminded of saying goodbye to Rose, and leaving Donna behind. And he was even less happy to find the notoriously concupiscent man with his dead wife.

"Long time, Doc," Jack acknowledged.

"Come here," River commanded. "Let me see you."

The Doctor reluctantly stepped out of the TARDIS, shutting the door behind him, wary of the other people in the room -he recognized River and Jack, and was a bit surprised to see the Osgoods. He stopped a few inches from River, and she lifted her hands to his face, examining him.

"You got old," she observed. "Look at those lines. And your eyebrows. Those are attack eyebrows . . ."

"Are you quite finished?" he seized her wrist, pulling them down to look at her. She looked the same as always – radiant, confident, and totally and completely . . . well, wonderful, really.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You're Scottish!"

"Your hair is still big," he said, grabbing her hair and ruffling it. She grinned.

"I'd much rather kiss _this_ face than that of a twelve year old man child," she said, standing on her toes and giving him a tender kiss on the cheek.

"Why aren't you dead?" he asked bluntly. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but I don't understand. You were dead."

"Yes," she agreed. "And now I'm not. Funny how that works with us, isn't it?"

"You sent me an emergency signal. Why? Who are these people?"

"Well, I believe you're familiar with the good Captain . . ."

"Who's better looking, now?" Jack grinned.

"And of course the Osgoods. And these two strapping young men are Sam and Dean Winchester."

"I don't understand. What's the emergency, River? I'm not supposed to be here . . ."

"Be where?"

"On earth."

"Why?"

"I can't explain, but it looks to me as you've got everything covered here." He started back towards the TARDIS. "Give me a call next time you're in deep space, I'll take you to a movie."

"Doctor, it is an emergency." River grabbed his arm, and Jack leaned against the TARDIS door, keeping it from opening.

"This guy is him?" Dean looked confused. "I thought he'd be, you know. An alien. Green skin, big head. Like the other ones I met."

"Those were fairies," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, but they _looked_ like aliens. Look, anyway, Doc Brown –"

"I resent that!"

"We got a big problem and it's about to be your problem, too."

"Well, I highly doubt that," the Doctor assured him.

"Sweetie," River said, glancing at him. "It's about Clara."

Something in his face changed. "What about Clara? Is she alright? What's happened?"

"She's in a very serious, very dangerous situation," Jack said.

"No, not Clara. She doesn't have any enemies on Earth. Well, besides Missy, but she's –"

"Beside the point," River finished. "Clara has been locked in Hell with Lucifer."

The Doctor scoffed. "Lucifer was locked away centuries ago. He hasn't been a threat in a _very_ long time."

"You don't pay much attention to Earth anymore, huh?" Jack asked.

"He doesn't have a _vessel_ ," the Doctor rolled his eyes. "Even if he could get out, without a vessel strong enough to permanently hold him, he couldn't do too much damage."

"Good point," Jack agreed. He nodded at one of the other men in the room, the tall one with the hair. "Doctor, meet Sam Winchester. Clara's boyfriend and Satan's true vessel."

The Doctor turned to Sam, wide eyed and in shock. Sam spread his arms in a _"yeah, I know"_ kinda way, and the Doctor stared, dumbfounded.

"Boyfriend?" he spluttered.

"Oh for God's sake," River muttered and rolled her eyes.

Sam frowned. "Uh, yeah, but also there was the part where I'm the vessel for Lucifer?"

"The Winchester Gospel isn't due to come out for hundreds of years, I remember checking just . . . about . . . three hundred years ago . . . oh." The Doctor scratched his head.

"I'm getting you a planner," River swore.

"You read the Winchester Gospel?" Osgood frowned.

"Of course not," the Doctor scoffed. "I don't read trash like that."

"Can we please get back to the matter at hand here?" Dean demanded.

"There is _no_ matter at hand," the Doctor said. "The only way Clara could get into the Cage, would to be to go into Hell with a higher up demon and be taken into the Cage by Lucifer himself."

"All of which happened last night," Jack confirmed.

"But . . . Clara doesn't _know_ any demons!"

"We do," Dean said. "Ever heard of a demon called Crowley?"

"I knew his mother once upon a time," the Doctor frowned. "Why?"

"He let Clara in," Sam said. "And can't get her back out. He's working on it now. Our relationship with Hell is . . . complicated."

"Who are you?" the Doctor demanded.

"Dean Winchester," he said.

"Of course. And the one in the nice coat?"

"That's Cas. He's an angel."

Castiel waved.

"Right, I want to hear exactly what has happened here," the Doctor demanded.

They quickly explained the situation, the Doctor frowning the entire time. Occasionally he'd point at someone else, say "Go" and listen to their side of the story. This kept on for about a half hour, until he finally took a deep breath. But instead of saying anything, he just whirled around, pulling the door open.

The Doctor entered the TARDIS, ignoring the noise of the Winchesters babbling on, trying to understand the dynamics. Jack was doing his best to explain, but to no avail.

"Right," the Doctor said, pulling the screen on the console towards him as River stood behind him. "Clara has a tracking device in her arm. We should be able to find her on a universal scale and pinpoint the exact location of the Cage. I've never used the TARDIS to get into Hell before."

"Do you implant a tracking device in all your companions?" River demanded.

"I started with Amy and Rory," he replied. "They were always running off."

"Do I have one?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Guess."

River's eyes widened as she grabbed her buttocks. "You said that was an iron injection!" she hissed.

"Did you find her?" Sam joined them, pushing the idea of the whole bigger-on-the-inside thing from his mind to concentrate on Clara.

"See this?" the Doctor pulled up a satellite image of the earth. On one side of the geoid was a large red circle; on the other side was a large blue one. He pointed at the red. "That's hell. Like I said, never been. Never wanted to. It's a limited space – I could track something from in there, that's why it overlaps with earth, but I'd not want to enter it. Due the compression from its direct line with earth it could potentially destroy the TARDIS and anyone inside."

"Alright, lesson learned," River said. "We need to stay out of Hell, which is exactly where we need to go. Do you have a plan to get in and out?" River asked Dean.

The elder Winchester hesitated. "We're having some trouble on that end."

"You have no plans, no ideas, nothing? My God, you humans are all the same, aren't you? Funny little people with funny little brains," the Doctor snorted.

"Well you're the alien with the time machine, just go back and save her before she goes in!"

"Of course you have no idea of how time works. It's a straight line, you imbecile! The only one here who even remotely understands what I'm saying is the man who thinks he's a higher celestial being!" He pointed at Castiel.

"Hey, he's a higher being than you!"

"Oh, is that right?"

"Boys!" River clapped her hands, stepping between Dean and the Doctor, who glared daggers at each other. "Put the rulers away, it's time to spend less time arguing and more time coming up with a plan."

"There's only one plan," the Doctor said after a moment of silence. "I'm going in the TARDIS."

"What?!" River followed him to the console. "Sweetie, you're forgetting everything you just said about limited space and compression – we'll all die!"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But this is Clara, and I'll do anything before I let her die," the Doctor replied.

"Is that why you left her?"

The Doctor glared, then changed the subject. "You all need to stay here," he said, typing something into the console. "All of you. That means you, River," he said before she could argue.

"No way," Dean said, taking the words right out of River's mouth. "You're not her only friend. We love her, too."

"And what makes you think you can handle it?" the Doctor demanded.

"Because Sam and I have both spent our share of time in Hell!" Dean snapped.

"I'm not staying behind," Sam said.

"I'm with the boys," Cas agreed.

"I owe Clara," Osgood said, and the other one nodded.

"You can't make me stay, either," River agreed.

"What the hell, you only live once," Jack said, grinning at his own little inside joke.

The Doctor looked helpless. "You can't possibly understand how dangerous this is. If this machine explodes with all of us in it, we'll be erased from history."

"Peace at last," Jack said bitterly. "When do we leave?"

* * *

She couldn't remember her name.

She thought maybe it was Oswin. Or Clara. Or Oswald. She was very sure it was one of the three, but she wasn't quite sure which, because they were all her, but they were all different people.

A person has a lot of trouble remembering simple things when they're in pain. The only thing they do remember is that they _are_ in pain. Names don't matter. Faces or places or things don't matter. But they all still flash in front of you.

The funny thing is, she thought as she watched her skin catch on fire, is that she was quite sure she had more names and faces and places and things than most people should. Because her life already had flashed before her eyes. And then again. And again. And again.

But they were all different. They were all her lives but they were different.

She lives in an orphanage on Gallifrey. She listens to stories about Time-Lords in awe. She goes to school. She graduates. She guards the time machines. She sends a man into one. She gets married. She has a family. She gets old. She gets sick. She dies.

She is a little kid. She goes to school. She has a crush on a girl named Nina. She kisses her on the playground. She goes to college. She talks to her mum. She boards a spaceship. She crashes. She bakes soufflés. She talks to a boy named Rory. She finds a funny man with a big chin. She's crying. She's a Dalek. She dies.

She lives in London. Her mother is reading to her. She is being taught by a governess. She is tending to tables in a pub. She serves drinks. She's a governess. She finds a funny man with a big chin. She finds a lizard and her wife. She saves the world. She dies.

She is a leaf. She grows up. She loses her mum. She is a nanny. She travels with the man in the box. She seems to puzzle him. She is his best friend. He is hers. She goes to Trenzalore. She enters his timeline. She is in a million pieces. She dies. But then she doesn't. She goes back to him. He changes. She is a teacher. She is in love with a man. He dies. She grieves. She travels. She goes to the alley. She takes the number. She steps into the street. The raven finds her. She dies . . .

But wait. What was the last part of that second one? Not a past.

A future?

 _No time to think when you're in pain_ , she reminds herself.

This entire time she has been screaming.

But suddenly it's over, and she's curled up on the ground and she's very, very cold. She's Clara Oswald and she doesn't know what she just saw.

"That was more than I was expecting." Clara wasn't startled by Lucifer's voice. His was the only name she remembered as she was in pain.

"I was expecting some boring little life," Lucifer admitted. "Not a thousand different ones. You've lived and died over and over again and I want to know how. What are you?"

"It doesn't matter," she breathed, wanting to sit up, but too tired and sick to do so.

"Well _that's_ a lie. Everything matters." Her stomach turned at the actual devil saying something so Doctor-like.

"I noticed the same man in every life," Lucifer continued, sitting beside her. "An alien. The Doctor? What's that all about?"

She didn't reply and Lucifer nodded.

"That's fine. I'll figure it out when I finally get into that pretty little head. Feeling like helping me out yet? Just one word, Clara. One little word and it's all over."

One word. That's all it would take. Just one word and the pain would be over and the overlapping memories would be gone.

"Alright," he sighed when she didn't reply. Without any warning, Clara was positive her bones had been snapped. The pain was sharp and then dull, over and over, getting worse and worse. Her brain had to be bleeding. Her nose bled heavily, and her face contorted with agony. Spots on her body were bruised black.

She knew it wasn't her actual body. It was her soul being bullied. But she still couldn't stop it.

One word.

She opened her mouth, and Lucifer stopped her torture. She took a deep breath, and he smiled, gesturing for her to go on.

But there was a dull, throbbing light, appearing in the middle of the Cage, getting brighter, and brighter, and then were was the noise, the sharp, familiar wheezing. The image began to form as the TARDIS fully materialized.

The door opened, and the silhouette of a man stood in the door way, light streaming around him as he held his hand out towards Clara.

One word was all she needed, and now she had it.

" _Doctor_ ," she breathed, and smiled weakly as the tears rushed down her face.

"What the hell," Lucifer started quietly, and was surprised when Clara stood, holding her rib-cage and looking as broken as she possibly could, but still smiling.

"You wanted to know what I am," she laughed. "I'm the Impossible Girl. And my ride is here."


	26. Chapter 26

River was extremely curious to see what a high powered energy round would do if it were rapidly fired into the Devil, but once again the Doctor had spoiled her fun. Instead, she waited by the console, one hand on a lever and the other habitually resting on the gun on her hip.

She wasn't used to being told what to do. That was what she liked about the last Doctor – he was easy to boss around. She wasn't sure if she found this new incantation's more mature, commanding nature annoying or sexy.

One thing she did know, is that beyond those doors were two very dangerous people, one who easily fit the description, and one who would surprise you. Clara Oswald was strong and she was impossible. That made her indispensable, which also put her in a great deal of danger at all times.

But Clara was never one to give up easily.

Outside the TARDIS, Clara was standing, finding the last bit of strength she had left and allowing it to be fueled by the man she thought had abandoned her. Funny how easy it is to be angry at someone who isn't there, but be more than willing to fall into their arms when you come face to face with them.

"So this is the man with the magic box," Lucifer said, stepping into Clara's path to stare straight at the Doctor. "Not exactly what I was expecting."

"Yes, I tend to get that a lot," replied the Time Lord casually.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. "Come here, Clara."

She didn't want to. She wanted to stay where she was standing and move on her own terms. But she felt her legs move without her consent and found herself standing beside Lucifer. He casually threw an arm around her shoulders.

"This one has some interesting memories," Lucifer continued. "That box can do all sorts of neat things. So, how far down into this pit can it go, Doc?"

"No idea," the Doctor replied. "Give me Clara."

"She doesn't want to go. Do you?" he asked her, squeezing her shoulders like she was an old friend.

"I –" she started, but found no other words would leave her mouth.

"See?" Lucifer asked. "I leave her speechless. We're best friends."

"She's my best friend and I'd very much like you to take her hands off of her," the Doctor said.

"Alright," Lucifer said. "Come and get her."

The Doctor hesitated.

"Oh, but you can't," Lucifer said, hitting his forehead like he'd forgotten something. "Because only people I want in the Cage can actually enter. Try someone else."

"Alright, that's enough." Sam shoved the Doctor aside, standing in the door.

Lucifer smiled, and twirled some of Clara's hair around his fingers. "That'll work. How ya feeling, Sam? You don't look to hot."

"Sam," Dean warned, but Sam was beyond angry. He stepped out of the TARDIS.

Clara wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was a big, stupid oaf and to turn around, but her words were still gone.

Lucifer grinned wider. "Now that's more like it." He removed his hand from Clara's shoulder and shoved her forward. She stumbled into Sam, who wrapped one arm around her, pulling her against his side protectively.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly without his gaze leaving Lucifer.

She nodded. "Idiot," she mumbled, relieved she was able to speak again.

"Get in the TARDIS."

"No."

"Clara."

"No."

"Let's talk," Lucifer interrupted.

"No," Sam said. "That's my first and final answer. I don't care what you're doing or how. I don't care why God wanted me to come to you. I don't care that you think for a damn minute that anyone would be stupid enough to let you out of your Cage. I do care that you hurt her, and I do care that somehow you've been talking to Rowena. But I'm not going to stand here another second for you to start toying with us. It's over, Lucifer. We both need to accept that."

"Done?" Lucifer asked when Sam finished. "Good. Here's how it is, Sam – God doesn't give a crap about your or the angels. You know who does?" He pointed at himself. "You seriously didn't get that I was the one sending your messages? You're supposed to be the smart one. I didn't need you down here for me to torture or play with. I needed you down here because if you want to stop the Darkness – and trust me, that is something you want – I'm going to need a vessel. So I'm prepared to offer a compromise."

"You don't get to offer anything," Sam said. "You should have thought of that before you hurt Clara."

"Oh, I barely touched her," he said, rolling his eyes. "I need a vessel. I almost had her agreeing and then we would be having this conversation topside. But you had to roll in all knight in shining armor. Now hear me out. Or else I'll get your attention by force." He looked pointedly at Clara.

Sam looked down at her, hesitating. She shook her head. Sam swallowed and sighed, looking at the TARDIS. He pulled her towards it, and she sighed in relief.

The relief disappeared when he put her in the TARDIS and started to turn around.

"No!" she cried, grabbing his hand.

He turned, crouching down and laying his hands on her shoulders. "Stay here," he said firmly. "Alright? Just stay right here."

"No, no, don't go back out there," she begged.

"Hey," he said, putting his hand on her face. "You trust me, don't you? Don't you?"

She swallowed some tears, nodding.

"Then stay right here." He kissed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, leaning into him.

Then he pulled away, walking back towards Lucifer.

"No," she cried, trying to follow. She felt someone pull her back.

"Let him go," Dean said quietly.

"How can you let him?!" she cried. "How can you let him go back out there?!"

"Clara," Dean said, turning her to look at him. His eyes were full of fear, but they were steady. "Nothing is going to happen. Alright? We planned ahead. He's got protection, okay? He's okay. He's okay."

She gave a frustrated cry and fell against him, leaning into his chest and crying. He wrapped his arms around her, laying his chin on her head and staring straight ahead, hoping he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

* * *

Sam could feel the weight of the Colt inside his coat pocket. His hands twitched, wanting to use it, but he refrained.

The plan was that if things got bad, Sam would fire off a few rounds into Lucifer's face and make a run for the TARDIS. It would hopefully weaken the angel long enough for them to get away.

Of course Sam knew that plan has like a ten percent chance of actually working, but he was a Winchester, and if there was one thing he did well it was coming up with stupid plans that occasionally worked.

"So," Lucifer said, leaning against the Cage casually and shoving his hands into his pockets. "She seems nice."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Is that why you tortured her?"

"It was hardly torture. Call it . . . a tour of her own memories."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sam demanded.

"Ask her yourself. I have no intention of keeping you here."

Sam frowned. "You . . . you don't?"

Lucifer looked amused. "Am I always the bad guy to you?"

"Well . . . uh, yeah," Sam frowned.

Lucifer gave a nod. "Yeah, that's fair. So, ready to hear me out?"

Sam hesitated. Alright. Lucifer was a douche bag and the most evil damn thing in the world, but he kept his word.

"Talk fast," Sam said.

"The Darkness is bad news," Lucifer said, crossing his arms. "And not just for you guys. Here's the thing about Amara. She thinks she's doing the right thing. That makes it a hell of a lot harder to beat her, because in her eyes she's the hero. And, well, you know heroes always win, don't you, Sam?"

"Get to the point."

"She _is_ the point. Amara has had all of eternity to sit around and do nothing but learn how to use her powers perfectly. If she somehow does find dear old deadbeat Dad, she will easily wipe him out. Step on him like a bug. Killing God is her one goal. After she accomplishes it, she's going to want to get rid of everything that reminds her of him. That includes the angels, the demons, the earth . . . and of course, Gods favorite, if not slightly troubled, son."

"Slightly troubled?!"

"You're missing the point, Sam," Lucifer sighed, as though exasperated with a child who wouldn't listen. "She'll wipe us out. You, your brother, your girlfriend. Along with everything else including me."

"So you want to stop her, too?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Yes!" Lucifer exclaimed. "Finally, you're getting it."

"That's why you wanted me to come down here? You want to tell me how to defeat her?"

"I want to do more than that," Lucifer said. "I want to help you defeat her."

"Alright," Sam said. "I'll bite. How would you do that?"

Lucifer's eyes shined. "Why, by you letting me use you as a vessel, of course."


	27. Chapter 27

Sam felt like an idiot.

He should have known this was all one big ploy. Just when Lucifer was making some sense, he dropped the vessel bomb.

"I knew this was a waste of time," Sam said, turning to leave.

"I'm not done," Lucifer called, and Sam sighed and turned to look at him.

"Yes, you would _technically_ be a vessel," Lucifer continued. "But we could share."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Share?" He asked. "As in, my body? Share _my body_?"

"Well it just sounds wrong when you say it like that," Lucifer rolled his eyes. "But yeah. I'd be willing to give you control of your body with my powers and abilities, but without me taking over."

"You're joking."

"It would be complicated," Lucifer said. "Occasionally, to keep power, I'd have to take over. Never for more than a few hours if my calculations are right. But you get the idea. Your body, my powers. Ultimate weapon."

"You've got to be crazy," Sam said. "No way would that work. And even if it did, what happens when Amara is defeated? Then what? We go back to you trying to use me as your vessel and me trying to shove you back into the Cage?"

"You wound me, Sam," Lucifer said, clutching his heart. "After Amara is defeated, her soul would be destroyed, but she'd be leaving behind a body she was born into. A body strong enough to hold _any_ kind of vessel."

"You want Amara's body?" Sam shook his head in incredulously. "You just expect me to let you run around in an all powerful body?"

"I'll behave as long as I get what I want," Lucifer replied.

"Which is what?"

"Heaven."

Sam snorted.

"Think about it, Sam," Lucifer said. "There's no one running things up there. My brothers need a leader, and if no one else is going to do it, someone needs to step up to the plate. You keep your precious earth. Crowley keeps his little hell hole. But I get the upstairs."

Sam hesitated. Was this crazy enough to work?

"What if I say no?" Sam asked.

"Then I'll let you walk right out of here," Lucifer replied. "To fight an impossible fight and lose. Need some time to think about it? Go ahead. I'll be waiting."

* * *

Clara sat on the steps of the TARDIS alone, a blanket draped around her shoulders. She stared off into space, her thoughts swirling in her head and making her oblivious to her surroundings.

Until the Doctor sat beside her.

"I brought you tea," he mumbled, handing her the mug.

She took it, staring down at the steaming liquid as it swirled inside the mug.

"Is this your idea of an apology?" she asked quietly without looking at him.

"More of a peace offering." He was quiet as she sipped the tea.

"Clara . . ."

"You left me," she said blankly.

"I know."

"Alone. No way to get home. Nothing."

"I know."

She finally looked at him. "Why?"

He hesitated. "I wanted to protect you."

She laughed bitterly. "Great job at that," she said, sipping some more tea. "I feel very, very safe with the Devil breathing down my neck."

"I didn't know that would happen."

"Then what were you afraid would happen?!" she demanded, standing, her voice rising. The others quieted, watching cautiously, but Clara didn't care. She was beyond caring. "What were you so afraid of that you left me behind without so much as a proper 'goodbye'?! Was it me? Did you think I'd leave you? Because here's some news for you, Doctor, I never, ever wanted to leave you! I wanted to be with you forever!"

"I know," he said, calm. "That's why I left."

"Well you know what I think?" She threw the mug, and it shattered against the TARDIS wall. The Doctor didn't as much as flinch. "I think that's a rubbish answer! I think you only ever give rubbish answers! No, you don't even give answers! You just give more questions, and I'm sick of it! I want you to stand up – _stand up, dammit_ – stand up and give me a real, honest, blunt answer! Why did you leave me?"

"Because you're supposed to die," he replied, standing.

Clara blinked, tears drying on her face. "What?" she asked quietly.

Before he could explain, the door opened. Clara turned and her felt the most relieved she'd ever felt. "Sam," she cried, running forward. He leaned down and caught her, holding her so tightly she thought she might burst, but she didn't care. She latched her arms around his neck, unwilling to let go, and buried her head in his shoulder. He laid his hand on the back of her head and held her.

Clara stiffened when she heard the click of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.

She turned and her eyes widened when she saw Dean aiming the gun at Sam.

"Dean?" she demanded.

"What's the safe phrase?" Dean demanded, keeping his eyes trained on Sam.

Sam looked uncomfortable. "Do I really have to say it?"

"The safe phrase!"

Sam sighed. "Busty Asian Beauties."

Dean lowered the gun, releasing a breath, and stepping forward to catch his brother in a hug.

"Next time, I get to pick the safe phrase," Sam said, hugging him back.

"Man, I can't believe that worked," Dean sighed as he pulled away. "How many rounds did you have to put in Lucifer to get outta there?"

"None," Sam said, handing Dean the Colt. "He let me go."

"Funny," Dean remarked sarcastically, until he opened the round and realized all the bullets were there. He frowned. "How the hell?"

"Long story," Sam said. "Let's get back to the Bunker and talk there."


	28. Chapter 28

**I've actually had this chapter done for a while. I'm just lazy af. Anyway, here you go.**

 **Also, totally random thought. Have you ever noticed how some Panic! at the Disco songs match Supernatural? Like, "This is Gospel" is Sam, and "Emperor's New Clothes" is Dean?! Go listen! It's like - bam, headcannon.**

* * *

"No freaking way!"

Sam sighed. He knew Dean would react just like this.

Everyone sat at the table in the Bunker. Well, they were sat, but now Dean was on his feet, shouting and cursing at his brother. Cas was trying to get him to calm down. Clara was staring off into space, sick from the suggestion Sam had just laid out. The others weren't sure what to say.

"Would you just shut up an listen?" Sam snapped at his brother.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Dean started. "I forgot, you're Sam I've-got-to-save-the-world Winchester! God forbid you do the rational thing and keep yourself safe! Man, _screw_ the world! Lucifer ain't worth it!"

"Sam, I'm inclined to agree with Dean," Cas said hesitantly. "Heaven will never agree to this."

"I know," Sam said. "That's why at the end of it, we kill him. He'll be weak from switching vessels. As soon as he's in Amara's body, we shove an angel blade through his chest and be done with it."

Castiel hesitated. "Well . . ."

"I don't know _what_ you're thinking," Crowley, who had arrived only moments before, snapped at Castiel. "This is bloody _Lucifer_!"

"Crowley is right," Cas agreed begrudgingly. "It's too dangerous."

" _You_ can't even keep a lid on him!" Sam exclaimed, pointing at Crowley.

"He's contained," Crowley snapped back.

"Obviously not well," the Doctor snorted.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. "Sorry, who are you?"

"Everyone be quiet!" Clara shocked everyone by standing and shouting. "This is Sam's choice. If he decides to go through with it, I'll support him, no matter how stupid I think this is."

Sam looked touched. "Thanks, Clara."

"Shut up. I said I'm on your side. I didn't say I was happy about it." She crossed her arms and sank back into her seat.

Cas hesitated. "She's right. Ultimately, this _is_ Sam's decision."

"Unbelievable," Dean said. He looked at Sam. "You really think this will help?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "But maybe it's worth a shot."

"Yeah, and maybe it's not," Dean said, and he left the room.

"Brilliant," Crowley said. "Now we have one Winchester going mad, and the other sulking. Perfect."

"Just get back to Hell and make sure this stays quiet," Cas growled, and Crowley rolled his eyes but complied.

As the others filed out of the room, Sam caught Clara by the wrist.

"That meant a lot to me," he said.

"Yeah, well," she sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. "I don't like this. But I love you too much to just ignore your wishes. It's not fair."

"You love me?" he raised his eyebrows, a small smirk beginning to pull at his lips.

She looked surprised, turning bright red. "Oh, no!" she said. "I wasn't supposed to tell you like that. I had it all planned out. There was lingerie and wine involved –"

He silenced her with a kiss, and she relaxed, laying her hands on the side of his face and closing her eyes, trying not to cry.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Don't," she whispered back. "Please don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault. I'm here."

For now, she thought, and tried to think of a way to tell the man she loved that she only had three years left to spend with him - or less, if things went badly.

* * *

Dean sat on his bed, drinking straight from the bottle. How could Sam be this stupid? Lucifer. Jesus Christ, what an idiot. He thought John had raised Sam better than that. He thought that he himself had raised Sam better than that.

He wondered what his dad would do if he were here. Probably knock Sam over the head and lock him in the panic room. A promising idea, Dean thought, as he raised the bottle to his lips.

There was a knock, and Dean sighed. "Go away, Sam."

"It – it's me. Os - Petra."

Dean sighed but stood, unlocking the door and opening it.

She had a mug in her hand. "Oh," she said, looking at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. "I brought you some hot cocoa, but I see you've already got a drink . . . I'll go."

"No, I, uh, I could use some hot cocoa," Dean replied, setting the bottle on the dresser. "Thanks." He took the mug and took a drink. "Damn, that's good."

"I didn't know how . . . you seemed very . . . are you okay?" Petra asked, wringing her hands nervously, not knowing what else to say.

He shook his head. "No. But come in anyway."

She did, and he shut the door. They sat on the bed, and Dean laid the hot chocolate on the dresser beside the whiskey. He rubbed his forehead.

"I don't know what my brother is doing," he said.

"He's trying to save the world," Petra said carefully.

Dean chuckled darkly. "Yeah. Story of our lives." He took a deep breath. "I keep on thinking that maybe this wouldn't be happening if my dad was here. He'd know what to do."

Petra hesitated. "No offense to you," she said, looking down at her hands. "Or your family. But . . . from what I understand, John Winchester never really knew what was best for Sam. You did. I mean, _you_ were the one who sold your soul to save him. And, you're the one who never stopped protecting him. There is no better man than you, Dean. And Sam understands that. It's why he's so desperate. He doesn't want to save the world. He wants to save you. You know, one of the only people worth saving these days."

He didn't say anything, and Petra's stomach lurched. She must have upset him. Or offended him. Oh, God, Petra, you idiot.

"Dean, I didn't mean to . . . heavens, that was rude. I should go."

She stood, turning furiously red, but was startled when Dean grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Her eyes widened as Dean caught her lips with his, pressing them forcefully together. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her very close, and assaulted her lips with his.

She didn't know how to react at first. This was certainly not what she was expecting. She didn't think she'd earned a kiss from Dean Winchester. Maybe he was drunk. Or confused.

 _Shut up_ , she told herself, and for once she listened, closing her eyes and parting her lips, inviting Dean to continue.

Dean took the invitation and ran with it. His free hand traveled up her thigh, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, her hands tightening into fists as she pulled him closer, as close as she could get him. His hands slid under her, lifting her onto his lap. He ran his hands up her arms gently, pushing her coat off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, and Dean brought his hands to her hair, pulling the hairband away and running his hands through her curls as they fell around her face.

She reached up and yanked the glasses off her face, tossing them onto her jacket on the floor. She pushed Dean down onto the bed, sitting up long enough to struggle with unbuttoning her shirt, but getting distracted by Dean leaning up and trailing his mouth down her neck.

"How much do you like this shirt?" he asked, nipping gently at her neck.

"Not that much," she breathed.

"Good," Dean said, grabbing the front and ripping it open, causing a few buttons to pop off. He trailed his hands up, stopping on her rib cage, and pulling her down onto him, replacing his mouth on hers, stopping for a moment as she pulled his shirt off.

"Need your inhaler?" he breathed against her collarbone as he trailed kisses across it.

"Later," she said breathily, shoving him back onto the bed.


	29. Chapter 29

In her bedroom on board the TARDIS, Clara shoved some of her clothes into a duffle bag, tossing it onto her bed and moving towards her dresser. She opened drawers and began emptying the contents into her bag.

"Clara."

She ignored the Doctor, who had been standing in the doorway, watching her for the last five minutes. Clara didn't look at him once.

"Clara," he said again. "Let me explain."

"Explain what?" she replied icily, zipping her first bag and moving onto the next one with pausing or looking at him. "There's nothing to say, Doctor."

"There's so much to say," he argued.

"Alright, then." She angrily threw a shirt into her bag and turned to look at his, putting a hand on her hip. "Where do you want to start? How about when I left my job and my home to travel with you, only to have you leave me? Or maybe about how you never came when I needed you here? Or let's go ahead and start with how I'm going to die, that seems to be a fun topic for you."

He flinched at the harsh words. "You're not going to die," he swore. "Not now. That's why I had to go, Clara, I couldn't be the one to lead you to your death."

"Right, my potential death," she narrowed her eyes. "Which you seem to know a lot about. Care to explain?"

He sighed. "Me."

"What about you?"

"No – Me. Ashildr. Whatever you want to call her, you know how she's immortal."

"Yeah," Clara frowned. "So?"

"So I saw her. Remember right before I . . . dropped you off here? When we were visiting London in 3918 to see that band with the robots and the holograms?"

"Get to the point."

"While you were backstage, Me approached me, and she warned me . . . she said that if I kept traveling with you, you were going to die. Soon. And it would be at her hands."

"Why would Ashildr want to kill me?"

"She doesn't. She won't. Look, it's complicated, but you have to understand. I've lost so much. You've seen how much I've lost. You're my friend, Clara, my best friend, and if I need to do something to prevent your demise, then I'm going to do it. I don't care if that hurts your feelings, or if you hate me or what have you. I care that you're safe, and protected, something I failed to make sure of before I left. I just needed to make sure you were unharmed and as far away from London as possible. I did that. And you still ended up getting hurt, and I'm to blame for that as well. I simply can't win. I thought I was protecting you, but really I led you straight into the hands of a monster. I should never have left you."

"Well you did!" she exploded. "You were gone and I found something to fill the huge, bleeding hole you left! I trusted you, Doctor, you were my friend, you were my _best friend_ , and I _trusted_ you! I left _everything_ behind! My job, my family, my life! You promised you'd be there for me, you _promised_! And then you just disappeared and I was alone! You should have told me. You should have trusted me. You should have let me decide what to do, because it's my life! And I wanted to spend it with you."

The stared at each other for several long moments. Then, Clara sobbed and sank onto her bed, crying into her hands.

A moment later, the Doctor sat beside her, and she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her.

"I've made you cry," he sighed.

"No," she cried, sitting up and staring at him with those large, wet eyes he loved so much. "Doctor . . . I'm going to die."

"No, you're not," he promised. "Look, you'll be perfectly safe on Earth, and just because we can't travel together doesn't mean we can't still see each other . . ."

"No, Doctor," she breathed. She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. "I've done something . . . horrible. I didn't know what to do, I was so scared for Sam and I just wanted to help."

"Clara." The Doctor's voice was steady, but his eyes were fierce. On the inside, both of his hearts were beating fast. He grabbed her shoulders. "Clara, what did you do?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Doctor, I'm so sorry. It was for nothing. It was all for nothing."

"Clara, _what did you do_?!"

"I sold my . . ." she swallowed, looking away.

The Doctor felt a sensation he could only describe as agony. He knew what she'd done. Leaving her behind, leaving her broken and hurt and it had all been for nothing. _Clara, no_. This was worse than death. This was damnation.

"Oh, Clara," he said, grabbing her and holding her. "Oh, Clara, no. Please. Please tell me you didn't."

"I didn't know what to do," she said numbly.

"How long?" he demanded. He could fix this. He needed time. He needed resources. That had to be something, anything. He would do it.

"Three," she swallowed. "Three years."

"Your boyfriend, does he know?"

"No."

"You have to tell him."

"I can't."

"He knows about these things. He can fix it. He can fix it, right? He can fix it." Was he reassuring her, or himself? Don't think like that, he told himself.

"I can't, Doctor. I sold it to Crowley. If I tell Sam, he's going to kill him, or worse, and we might need him."

The Doctor looked horrified. "Clara, when did you start thinking like that?"

"You mean when did I start thinking like you?"

He was taken aback. Clara dried her tears, sniffed. "If we can figure something out, great. But Sam doesn't find out. Promise me that. You owe it to me."

"Alright, fine." The Doctor felt quite queasy. "Excuse me." He stood, walking quickly from the room. Clara watched, helplessly, and sighed.

* * *

In the end, it was Clara, Castiel, and Dean who went with Sam.

Crowley led them back towards the Cage, where Lucifer was leaning against the bars, a smirk on his face.

"So," he said. "I see we've come to a decision."

"If you pull any kind of bullcrap," Dean started.

"Oh, spare me," Lucifer rolled his eyes. "I know. Dean Winchester will cry like a little girl and try to save baby brother. Well you won't have to. I'm a man of my word. Now, Sam, I think there's something you want to say to me?"

Sam looked at Clara, who looked at him with wide, damp eyes. He squeezed her shoulder gently, and she swallowed.

"Alright," Sam said, turning to look at Lucifer. "Yes. I give you permission to use my body as your vessel – _temporarily_."

Lucifer's smile widened. "Music to my ears."

There was a bright, blinding light, and Cas shielded Clara from it. She squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding. After a moment, the light died down, and they stood up straight.

Sam had sank to one knee, and was breathing heavily, and Clara panicked.

"Sam?!" she exclaimed, pushing past Cas and leaning in front of him. She laid her trembling hands on his arms. "Sam, are you okay?"

He looked up, and his eyes were glowing blinding bright for a moment. They faded, and Clara frowned at the difference in his brown eyes.

He smirked. "Oh, it is _good_ to be back," he laughed.


	30. Chapter 30

**Welcome back, Samifer! I'm going to be having a lot of fun with him in later chapters, but for now, here's a fluffy chapter about the boys and their romance. And if you're about to start bitching at me about the whole Dean/Osgood ship, eat a bag of dicks. It's cute and DEAN DESERVES TO BE HAPPY AND LOVED OKAY JUST LET HIM HAVE THIS PLEASE HE IS A SMALL PRECIOUS BABY TOO GOOD FOR THE CRUEL WORLD AND NEEDS CUDDLES. Ahem. Enjoy.**

* * *

"Let me tell you, Nick was a nice guy, but damned if it wasn't cramped in there!"

Sam – no, not Sam, Clara reminded herself, not right now – stretched, looking down at his hands and rolling his shoulders.

"This is _much_ better, even with a Winchester rolling around in my head," he continued.

"Alright, you're in," Dean said, stepping forward, his face a mask that Clara recognized – he was freaking out, but trying to stay calm. "Give Sam his body back."

"In a minute," Lucifer continued. "Let me just get comfortable . . ." he ran his hands through Sam's hair. "Don't you people own scissors? Give me a mirror and some clippers, and –"

"Don't touch his hair," Dean and Clara warned at the same time.

Lucifer held up his hands. "Alright, alright, geez. Man, there are some crazy memories since last time I was in here." He raised his eyebrows and pointed at Dean. "Did you guys _break_ heaven?"

"Alright, that's enough," Dean snapped. "Bring him back now!"

Lucifer sighed, but closed his eyes. A moment later, he collapsed to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees.

Dean leaned down, looking at him carefully. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Sam grunted, rubbing his head and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before blinking them open. "That's, uh . . . damn."

"Alright, come on big guy," Dean said, helping him up.

Clara glanced at Sam hesitantly, and when he smiled a bit, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tightly. He kissed the top of her head.

"This is a horrible idea," Crowley chimed in.

"I agree," Castiel added.

"Yeah, well, I think so too, but this is Sam's choice. He knows what he's doing." Dean glanced at Sam. "You do know what you're doing . . . right?"

"Yeah, I'm . . ." He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose, like he had a headache.

"Sammy?" Dean asked after a moment, and Sam held up a hand.

Dean looked sympathetic. "Is it ' _Stairway to Heaven_ '?"

Sam nodded, looking pained.

"The Zeppelin version, or –?"

"Nope."

Dean cringed. "Tough break, man." He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

"So, can he . . . you know. Hear us?"

Clara sat on their bed back at the bunker, dressed in her pajamas.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, brushing his teeth. He finished and exited the bathroom, drying off his wet hair with a towel.

Clara blushed. "So he can see when we, uh . . ."

"I can block him out," Sam said, sitting beside her. "So that he's pushed all the way to the back of my mind. God knows what he's doing back there, but he can't see us from there."

"Good," she replied, kissing him softly.

He smiled into the kiss for a moment, before pulling away. "But how are you?" he frowned. "Your soul took one hell of a beating down there, Clara."

"It's alright," Clara said, looking down at her chest. "Cas looked at it earlier – that's so weird, that he can _do_ that – and he said it's not as 'bruised' as it was. He said it's good that I'm healing so fast."

"I almost want to shove an angel blade through my own chest just for what he did," Sam grumbled. "Be done with him once and for all."

"Don't joke," Clara said quickly. "That's horrible."

"Relax, I don't mean it. I just . . ." he sighed. "It's all my fault. I went and fell in love with the bravest person in the world."

"You're guilt talk sounds suspiciously like flattery," she smirked.

"Yeah?" he grinned, nuzzling his head on her shoulder. He kissed her neck. "Well, she's also really smart, and beautiful . . ."

"Is that right?" she smirked, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as he kissed right beneath her ear.

"Mmhmm." His hand slid up her thigh. "And she's also the best girlfriend in the world and deserves way better than the guy she's stuck with."

"Oh, I think she's perfectly happy with him," she breathed. "But maybe he should go ahead and get undressed, just so she can be completely sure."

He laughed and tackled her gently, and she cried out in laughter, too. And for a little while, she felt totally happy.

* * *

Petra didn't know how to feel about sharing a building – and a friend, for that matter – with Satan himself. From what she could recall from the books, he was seriously bad news, and she only could fathom what sort of repercussions they would end up suffering from. Her thoughts were going a million miles a second and she couldn't even understand fully what was happening.

Then she felt Dean's arm snake up over her waist, and, upon remembering she was naked in his bed for the second time, forgot all about Lucifer for a moment.

She turned over, watching him for a moment. He really was a magnificent specimen, she thought as she watched his bare chest rise and fall in rhythm with his breathing. His eyelashes occasionally fluttered, and she only wondered what he could be dreaming of.

She was surprised when he mumbled, "Can't sleep?"

"Oh," she said. "No. I was thinking." She paused. "Why do you like me?"

"Mm." Without opening his eyes, and pulled her closer, and her heart began palpitating at the feel of his warmth. "'Cause you're cute."

"C-cute?" she blushed deeply, thankful his eyes were closed.

"Yeah," he said, rolling over onto his back, pulling her with his so that she laid with her head and one arm on his chest. "Always talking all fast and asking questions and stuff. It's freaking adorable."

"I – I didn't think those were particularly desirable traits," she admitted.

"Turns _me_ on. Besides, look at you."

"But I'm so plain."

"Who the hell told you that?"

"My mother."

"Yeah, well, I guess your mom doesn't think your dimples are the sweetest thing ever, or that you have stunning eyes, or sexy lips."

"She says I'm frumpy and that my nose is too big."

Dean gave a bark of laughter at her matter-of-fact tone. "Well, I've seen you naked twice, so I can confirm you're anything but _frumpy_. And I like your nose." He kissed it, and Petra smiled.

She hesitated. "Do you really think my lips are sexy?"

He laughed again, and pulled her up to him, pressing his lips to hers and playing in her hair. Petra wasn't used to feeling pretty or special or sexy – but Dean made her feel all of those things, and more. He was so gentle, and tender, and admired her. The feelings he stirred in her could only be described as bliss.

"I'd love to stay in bed all day with you and prove just how amazing you are," Dean murmured. "But I gotta go make sure the Devil isn't using my brother as a chew toy." He kissed her once more and got up, pulling on some clothes.

Petra sat up a bit, watching him for a moment.

"You're the only one who hasn't asked," she told him as he prepared to leave.

"Asked what?" he asked.

"You know. Which am I, human or alien."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Because I don't care. You're you. And you are perfect."

He kissed her, left, and that was the moment Petronella Osgood fell head over heels in love with Dean Winchester.


	31. Chapter 31

"Come on, keep your fists up – no, no, stop. What did I tell you? If you clutch your fists like that, you're gonna break your thumb for sure. Outside your hand. Good, now hit me."

Clara took a deep breath, and drew her fist back, shoving outward with it.

Dean evaded easily. "Better, but still too slow. You're getting there."

"I'm exhausted," Clara said, and Dean could tell she was. Sweat was beading on her face, and she was starting to look sore. "Can we please take a break?"

He looked at his watch. "We have to get upstairs and have that meeting. I'll head downstairs and grab the I.T. kids, you head to the library and get Sam. Meet you in fifteen minutes."

Clara nodded and grabbed her towel, tossing it over her shoulder and heading up the stairs, her legs aching. When she asked Dean to teach her to defend herself, she hadn't thought he'd be this intense about it. Of course she knew he was only trying to help her – he loved her, and she loved him. They were family now.

Sam was standing by one of the shelves, paging through a book, when Clara found him.

"I definitely need a massage," she said, rolling her eyes. "Your brother is going to kill me with these daily workout routines. Please tell me they don't get any harder – actually, don't. I don't think I want to know. These past three days I've been so busy becoming Mike Tyson, and you're buried in your books." She took the book from him and set it on the table and turning to him, running her hands up his shoulders and he laid hers on her waist. "We need some alone time."

He smiled. "Yeah, definitely."

She leaned up on her toes, pressing her lips to his, and kissed him gently. He responded enthusiastically, much more so than usual, roughly capturing her lips with his and tightening his grip to the point where it was almost painful. He kissed her so deeply and so passionately that Clara couldn't breathe, and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her. She struggled for a moment, until he released her, and she pulled back.

"What's gotten into you?" she demanded, and then her eyes widened in realization. "Oh no," she gasped.

He grinned broadly. "That was awesome."

She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes huge and face turning bright red. "Oh my god," she gasped. "What – why – _why didn't you say something?!_ "

"What?" he spread his hands, looking amused. "You came in here, all sweaty and bouncy in your little workout outfit. Besides, you were all over me."

"Because I thought you were Sam!" she exclaimed. "You were standing here reading and all . . . Sam-like!"

"What, just because I'm the devil means I can't read? Besides," he smirked. "Kiss me like that again and you can call me whatever you want."

She raised her hand to smack him, and he caught her wrist, squeezing.

"Just because I'm in your boyfriends body doesn't mean I won't snap your little wrist like a twig," he said nonchalantly.

She yanked her arm away, grabbing her head and turning towards the door, walking away quickly. "I just kissed Satan. Oh god. I kissed Satan."

"You come on back if you ever wanna try again!" he called after.

She turned round, pointing. "You – we – we will _never_ do that again. Never speak of this again. _Ever_."

"Speak of what ever again?" Dean asked as he entered the library, and Clara squeaked in surprise.

"Nothing!" she exclaimed.

"Right," Dean said. "Because that's not at all suspicious. Come on, you're going to miss the meeting. Sam?"

"Nope," Lucifer said.

Dean took a deep breath. "Meeting. Now."

Clara glanced at Lucifer, who grinned, and followed Dean out into the main room. She pointedly sat between Castiel and the Doctor, as far from Lucifer as she could get. He sat down at the other end, kicking his feet up and leaning back, leisurely putting his hands behind his head.

"Alright," Dean said. "What've we got?"

"No, no, you don't get to run the meetings," the Doctor said. "That's my job. First thing: Why am I still here?"

"That would be my department," Osgood said, raising her hand.

"Right, good, go."

Dean sank into his seat, glaring, and Osgood patted his shoulder as she stood.

"Missy is getting . . . nosy," she started.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she was last seen coming out of a very pricey hotel in New York," she started.

"The same hotel we know Rowena is staying at," Castiel added.

"Two separate evil, powerful Scottish women meeting up would be one thing," River crossed her arms and frowned. "But this isn't coincidence. One of them got into contact with the other."

"What the hell is a Missy?" Lucifer asked.

"Missy is a Time Lord," the Doctor replied. "The only other Time Lord. She's a tad bit insane."

"She killed my sister," Osgood said.

"She trapped me inside of a Dalek," Clara added.

"Locked me up and tortured me one time," Jack agreed.

"She sounds like fun," Lucifer remarked.

"Alright, maybe she's a bit more than a tab bit insane," the Doctor said, annoyed.

"Sweetie, you'd better not be standing up for her," River said, eyes narrowing.

"No, no, of course not, dear," he muttered. "The thing is, Missy is, - alright, fine – a bad guy. But she doesn't do team ups like this lovely little get together here. Rowena isn't her style."

"You never did tell us how you know so much about Rowena," Dean said.

"Because I knew her," he said, annoyed.

"Yes, but how?" Clara asked.

The Doctor sighed. "I'm the one who revealed to her village that she was a witch."

"You what?" Clara demanded.

"Why would you do that?" Dean demanded.

"I'm loving this," Lucifer remarked.

"Be quiet," Castiel growled, and he looked at the Doctor. "Why?"

"She was _terrorizing_ people," he said. "Whole villages. It wasn't just me, I was with my friend Jaime, there were some pigs involved, it's a long story. The short version is, she killed one too many times, and I let the town run her off. I didn't _know_ she had a son. I tried to find her after that, to offer her my help, and when I found her, well, we may have made things a bit worse . . ."

"Doctor . . . " Clara pressed.

He rolled his eyes. "She was still attacking and killing people, practicing spells on them. She almost got my friend Sarah Jane killed, she blew up my dog. I tried to stop her." He paused. "There _may_ be more."

"Oh, sweetie," River sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Rose and Jack and I were doing a tour of the United States," he started. "So Jack ran off with some bartender –"

"Brandon," Jack remembered fondly. "I should call him."

"And I heard all this stuff about some Witches Coven. Well that sounded like something I needed to investigate. And long story short I got her kicked out of the Coven."

Practically everyone groaned. Dean face palmed. Castiel rubbed his temples. Lucifer was grinning broadly.

"So basically you ruined her life," he said. "Love it. Keep going."

"There is nothing more, except for that she may have sworn revenge, I don't know, Rose was pulling me away from the burning building before she could finish her hate speech," the Doctor said.

"As if we didn't have enough issues," River sighed. "Missy has probably told Rowena exactly who Clara is and she'll certainly try to kill her."

"Not just me, River," Clara said. "You, too."

River blinked. "Damn."

"And Osgood," Clara continued. "And Jack."

"Alright, well, the good news is, magic doesn't work on us because we've traveled with the Doctor," Jack said.

"Knife through the chest would work," Lucifer remarked.

"Okay, you're officially shutting up now," Dean said. "I want Sam back."

"He's resting."

"Dammit, Lucifer, I swear to God –"

"You mean if you can find him?"

"Are all celestial beings this sassy?" Jack asked Clara quietly.

"I'm assuming," she replied.

"Back to the subject at hand," Jack said loudly, and everyone calmed down. "We've got two very powerful women with an agenda that I have a feeling is the same."

"Extract revenge and get us out of the way so they can concentrate on taking over the world?" River suggested.

"Basically."

"I can't do a thing from here," the Doctor said. "The only thing I can do here on Earth is try to find Missy and take her home."

"Home?" River frowned. "As in –"

"Yes. I found it, River. Well, I guess it found me."

"And you're just now telling me this?!"

"Alright, this is good," Jack said. "Osgood – the other Osgood – is back at UNIT. I've got Gwen working with her. We have Martha working here in the states. They can do monitoring and send any information straight to the TARDIS. River, go with the Doctor and try to find Missy. I'm going to head to the UNIT base in New York and see if we have any records on this witch. The rest of you . . . keep an eye on Satan."

"I'm going to go call Claire," Castiel said. "Things are getting serious. I want her and Alex out now."

"Good idea," Dean nodded. "I'm going to put out a 'do not approach' on Rowena to the other hunters. The last thing we need is a higher body count."

"I should go with Jack," Osgood said.

"No," Dean said quickly. "We, uh, we need you here."

She frowned. "I'm not much use here. At UNIT, I'll have all my equipment and be able to track things faster. It would be the rational thing to –"

"I can't let you go," Dean said firmly, and Petra felt hurt.

"Why not?" she frowned.

"Because," he said begrudgingly. "You haven't traveled with him." He nodded at the Doctor. "So if Rowena got you . . ."

"He's right," Jack admitted. "Can't risk it. I'll be fine out in the field – I'm sure Missy told Rowena about my immortality. She won't come anywhere near me. But you and Clara need to stay here, indoors, away from Missy or Rowena. River should, too, but then again if the stories are true, River Song has killed seven Silence in five minutes."

"It was eleven in four," she replied.

"My point."

"Fine," Osgood sighed, and she saw something like relief pass over Dean's face. She suddenly realized – he didn't want her to stay here because he needed her help. He wanted her to stay because he wanted her to stay. He was protecting her. Her face burned and she sat down, trying to hide it.

"Alright," Dean said. "Let's do this."


	32. Chapter 32

Dean stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and running another over his hair roughly. He had to admit, he has been skeptical about leaving the Bunker, even if it was only for a few days. But Cas was there, and the Doctor and his crazy wife, and Dean trusted them - mostly. Besides, it was kinda nice getting away from all the noise, even if it was just to retrieve things from one of many crypts. Sam – no, Lucifer, he reminded himself – had mentioned a catacomb in upstate New York where Meg had stored several of Lucifer's personal items – weapons, namely. And weapons there were. Angel blades, enchanted swords, and an odd looking staff had all been found in the crypt, and were now secured in the Impala's trunk. Dean, however, couldn't stop thinking about why Lucifer just so happened to 'remember' where he put all these weapons all the sudden.

"I'm not saying that I don't trust Sam," he called, heading for the sink and grabbing his toothbrush. "I do. More than anyone. But I mean, the guy responsible for the freaking _apocalypse_ is inside his head. How am I _supposed_ to feel?" He shook his head, leaning over the sink and brushing his teeth quickly.

"You're supposed to feel exactly the way you are," Petra replied from the bedroom. "It's not wrong that you're wary, you'd be very wrong not to be, given your history with Lucifer."

Dean nodding, replacing his toothbrush in the cabinet. He walked to the door, and stopped, leaning against it. He smiled.

Petra was laying on her stomach, kicking her feet back and forth and typing away on her tablet. She was wearing nothing but one of Dean's way to big t-shirts and a pair of socks. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, kinky and wild from being up in a ponytail all day. Her face was free of make-up and her glasses were sliding down her nose. She continued typing for a moment before looking up to find Dean staring at her. "What?" she asked.

He grinned. "You're cute."

She turned red, making Dean grin even wider. He sat on the bed and leaned down, tilting her chin up and kissing her tenderly. She smiled into the kiss, laying her hands on his shoulders, but quickly pulled away when her tablet started beeping loudly.

Dean sighed. "That thing is such a cock block."

"It's from the hotel Rowena is staying at," she frowned, sitting up. She typed something in and Dean scooted closer, looking closer and rubbing her back as he frowned at the screen. She quickly hacked a security camera and zoomed in on the hotel lobby.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "There should be people here," she said. "But there are no desk attendants, no bellhops, no guests . . . where is everyone?"

"Good question," Dean said. He stood. "Alright, I'll go check it out."

"I'll go, too," Petra said quickly.

"No way," Dean said, pulling on a pair of pants.

"You don't trust me?" she demanded, looking hurt. "I'm just as capable as Clara, and she gets to go on your little excursions."

"Of course I trust you," Dean began, knowing he was already losing this battle. "But Rowena has been working with that Missy bitch, and I remember what you told me about what happened to your sister. Doc says she's totally crazy and ruthless, I'm not taking any chances on you getting near her." He nodded at her tablet. "We just roll into the same neighborhood as Rowena and suddenly everyone in her hotel disappears? That ain't a coincidence."

"Isn't. And besides," she said, standing and not looking very intimidating at several feet shorter than Dean and wearing a shirt large enough to be a dress, "I'm your only backup."

Dean sighed, laying his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes. "You stay in the car, alright? I'll run in, have a look around, and be back. But you stay in the car, okay?"

"Fine," she said excitedly. She dodged past him and quickly opened her suitcase, dressing quickly in jeans, sneakers, and a sweater. She pulled on a green army jacket, her favorite scarf, and tied her hair into a messy braid.

Dean pulled on his jacket, grabbed the keys, and led her out to the car.

Their hotel was much smaller and cheaper than the large, showy building Rowena was staying in. It stood on a side street in Queens, and everything looked perfectly normal from the outside, but Dean had a very uneasy feeling as he stopped the car behind the building.

"Alright," he said. "I'm going in through the back, and taking a look around. You stay here. I'll be right back."

She nodded, and he got out, heading for the backdoor. He sighed, hearing the car door slam behind him a few moments later, and small footsteps catching up to him.

"I told you –"

"To stay in the car, yeah," Petra breathed, turning her own flashlight on. "I lied."

He shook his head, pulling a small pistol from his belt holster and handing it to her. "You know how to work this?"

"I think I can figure it out," she replied.

"Stay close," he said, and he opened the backdoor.

It led into a kitchen, which was dark and empty – the exact opposite of what it should be, seeing as it was only eight o'clock on a Friday evening. The place should be busy. But there wasn't a sound.

Petra looked down at her phone, which she had the transferred data from her tablet on to. "The banquet room is through those doors," she said, nodding at a pair of double doors.

"Alright, guns out," Dean said, and she pocketed her phone and held the pistol tightly.

Dean crept towards the door, pressing his ear to it and hearing no sound from the other side, though a faint light filtered from under the door. He looked at Petra, who raised her eyebrows, and nodded.

He burst through the doors, and instantly regretted it. Petra was right behind him, and she threw her hand over her mouth, stifling a cross between a scream and a sob.

"Don't look," Dean instructed her, pulling her towards him and wrapping his arm tightly around her, burying her head into his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and suddenly felt violently ill. Dean swallowed, he himself having a hard time examining the grisly scene before him.

At least two dozen people were strewn about the room, bloody and battered. Blood painted the floor, the walls, the tables, _everything_. Everyone was dead. Not even two feet from Dean, a man laid with his entire head bashed in, a candlestick sticky with blood and skin clutched in the hand of his dead wife, whose throat had been slit with a broken wine bottle. A few feet from them, a waiter had a large shard of glass sticking out of his chest. Others had been killed in various ways – strangled, beaten, stabbed, bludgeoned. Dean's stomach actually twisted when he saw a man whose head had nearly been sawed off with a steak knife.

Dean knew this scene. These people had torn each other apart, driven mad with bloodlust.

"Come on," he muttered, guiding Petra back into the kitchen. Tears were streaming down her face, and she wiped them away desperately, taking deep breaths. She dug in her pockets, trembling to hard to grasp anything, and Dean reached into her pocket and fished out her inhaler. He held it to her lips and helped her puff, and she held her heart as she gasped for breath.

"Who – why would anyone do such a thing?" she cried.

"I've seen this before," Dean said, holding the back of her head as she began to look a bit dizzy. "This is an attack dog spell, from Rowena. She pitted these people against each other. They killed each other until they died themselves."

"Why?" she whispered. "What was the point?"

"She must have known we were coming," Dean said, looking around.

"So – so this is our fault?"

He looked at her, small and frightened in the shadows. She was so innocent, he thought, so _good_. She'd just seen something she could never, ever forget, and instead of making up excuses, she was trying to take the blame herself. How on earth was he standing here with someone so _pure_?

"Hey," he said, stroking her hair. "Look at me. The only person to blame for this, is Rowena. She did this, you understand? Not you. This is not your fault."

She swallowed and nodded. "What do we do?"

"Rowena isn't here," Dean concluded. "She wouldn't hang around long after casting this spell. I'm going to guess there's more here. I'll go upstairs, see if I find anything in her room. You should stay here, catch your breath. Baby, look at me." He examined her face. "Are you okay?"

Before she could speak, there was the sound of the door opening, and Dean spun around, raising his gun.

Jack Harkness sighed, lowering his own weapon. "Relax," he said, holstering it. "It's only me."

"What're you doing here?" Dean asked, lowering the pistol.

"The same thing as you, I'd wager," the Captain said, joining them. "I was here at the UNIT base monitoring this place and noticed the disappearance of the people here. Now I wish I hadn't found them." He shook his head. "It's a bloodbath in here. How did this happen?"

Dean explained quickly, and Jack frowned, listening. He sighed heavily as Dean finished, drawing his gun once more.

"Nothing else to lose, then," he said. "Let's check out that room."


	33. Chapter 33

"Rowena did _what?"_

Clara looked up from the journals she had spread out on the table back at the Bunker. Castiel was sitting beside her, helping to translate, and also frowned at Sam's words, watching as the younger Winchester frowned and listened to his brother on the phone.

"Yeah," Sam finally said weakly. "But watch your back. This is so obviously a trap that it's borderline stupid. Alright. I'll have Clara call him. Okay. Bye." He hung up and looked at his girlfriend and friend.

"What's happened?" Clara asked, afraid of the answer.

Sam sighed, sitting back down and shaking his head. "Rowena murdered an entire hotel of people. Looks like an attack dog spell."

"She's getting bold," Castiel frowned.

"It gets worse," Sam said darkly. "They went upstairs to where Rowena was staying. More bodies dropped, and then there's this." He pulled up a picture on his phone, and Clara frowned at it.

The words "Missy was here" with a smiley face and a heart were graffitied in fluorescent spray paint on the hotel wall, along with a set of coordinates. Clara sighed.

"Why can't things be simple and let us deal with one villain at a time?" she asked, dialing the Doctor on her phone.

"Clara," he answered on the third ring. There were loud, crashing noises in the background and what sounded like guns firing and River yelling "Come and get me, you oversized pepper shakers!"

"Doctor," she frowned.

"Ah!" he sounded out of breath. "Now's really not a good time!"

"Where are you?" she frowned.

"Skaro."

" _Skaro?!_ " Clara exclaimed, making Sam and Cas jump at the sudden increase of pitch in her voice. "What're you doing on Skaro?! You're supposed to be looking for Missy!"

"I am, it's a long story! _Ah!_ River, watch where you're shooting! So, Clara – what's up?"

" _What's up_ is Rowena just murdered over a dozen people and Missy left her signature at the scene, along with a set of coordinates," Clara replied icily.

"Murder and Missy? Why am I not surprised?" There was a loud explosion, and echoes of _"Exterminate! Exterminate!"_

"So what're the coordinates?" The Doctor demanded. "Quickly!"

She read them, and hesitated. "Be careful," she advised.

"Who, me?" he asked casually over the sounds of River calling obscenities and the Daleks attacking. "I'm the best at being careful! I'm the carefulest! I'm – dammit, that's my good jacket! Clara, I've got to go!"

There was the sound of wild laughter, the whirring of his sonic sunglasses, and then nothing but a dial tone.

Clara sighed and put the phone down. "He said he'll look into it," she said with fake cheerful enthusiasm.

Sam looked amused. "Right," he said. "Cas, what's the word on these journals?"

"Well, they're very old," the angel said obviously. "The first few pages of this one in particular have summoning rituals, banishing spells, and spell ingredients. But the rest of it – well, it's like a demon hit list, if you will. All the big names are here – Azazel, Lilith, Alistair, Abaddon, Crowley. Along with the names of their supposed 'weaknesses' – all of which were eventually proven useless, mind you – and then things get bad."

"What can be worse than a list of the worst demons and their fake soft spots?" Clara frowned.

"Well, along with their names and common locations are summoning rituals. Sam, I'm no witch, but this is powerful magic here. These spells could potentially summon any one of those demons – it may even be powerful enough to summon them from beyond the void they were sent to upon death."

"What?!" Sam exclaimed, eyes widening.

"This is a very dangerous piece of information," Cas continued. "My advice would be to destroy it at once."

"Why would the Men of Letters keep a list of rituals that could raise demons?" Sam asked.

Castiel hesitated. "It's stated in the beginning," he began slowly. "That these demons could be controlled with a particular enchanted object."

"Oh my God," Clara said. "The ring."

"The Ring of Solomon," Castiel agreed. "Thankfully, no one has seen it in hundreds of years. Not since King Philips War. No one knows where it is."

Sam and Clara looked at each other hesitantly.

Cas sighed. "You have it, don't you?"

"It's in the dungeon," Sam admitted.

"We found it a while back with these journals," Clara nodded.

Castiel shook his head. "You mustn't let that ring fall into the wrong hands. It could restart the apocalypse on its own."

"Oh, I know," Sam said, rubbing his temples. " _Someone_ hasn't shut up about it since you mentioned it."

"Luficer wants you to put the ring on, huh?" Clara asked sympathetically.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "So I want Cas to hide it. I don't trust Lucifer. Especially not after what he pulled with you the other day, Clara."

"I'm confused, what did he do?" Cas frowned.

"Nothing," Clara said quickly. "Not a thing. Come on, Cas, I'll show you where the ring is."

She led him downstairs, desperately trying to dodge Castiel's questions.

Sam sighed, pouring some whiskey into a glass.

"Do you have _any_ idea what we could do with that ring?" Lucifer asked, suddenly sitting across from Sam.

Sam huffed. "You're already in my head," he said crossly, taking a long drink. "You don't have to project yourself into the room with me, too."

"Sam," Lucifer said seriously. "That ring could give us the power to stop Rowena, Missy, and the Darkness all at once. We could wipe them out and be done with it."

"Yeah, well," Sam said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You'll forgive me if I don't want Yellow-Eyes running around as soon as I catch a break."

"Don't you get it?" Lucifer sighed. "You'd have _control_ over him. And Lilith, and Alistair, and Abbadon – and Crowley. Think of what you could _do_ with power like that."

"You mean think of what _you_ could do with power like that," Sam pointed out. "I'm not stupid, Lucifer. You may be in my head, but I'm in yours, too. And even if I wasn't, I know how you work. And I'm telling you, it's not happening."

"Fine," Lucifer snapped. "Doom mankind. I don't give a damn about you mud monkeys anyway. Just remember who your friends are, Sam." He grabbed Sam's glass and drained it, slamming it back down on the table in annoyance. "Selfish kid."

"Maybe," Sam shrugged, crossing his arms. "But maybe you should remember – you need me. I don't need you. Not that badly."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, putting the bottle down. "What're you _saying_ , Sam?" he challenged.

"I'm _saying_ ," Sam retorted. "Touch Clara again and I'll expel you so fast that you won't even have _time_ to find a new vessel."

"Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Lucifer smirked and leaned back, his eyes dancing like hellfire. "You can try." He winked, and was gone.

Sam sighed, and poured himself some more whiskey.


	34. Chapter 34

The sun was shining beautifully, and the different flowers in bloom faced it, reaching for the light. A slight breeze rustled the small branches of the hedges and trees. Light, classical music filtered through the speakers and throughout the garden, the only other noises those of a blubbering fountain, some birds chirping, and two mad Scottish women plotting.

Rowena poured some tea for herself, and then for Missy. Missy smiled her thanks and added a few sugar cubes, stirring them into her steaming cup.

"I saw your production in New York," Missy said, sipping her tea with her little finger sticking out. "Quite impressive."

"Oh, thank you, dear," Rowena smiled, glad someone appreciated her work. "It was a simple attack dog spell, any former coven witch could have done it."

"Nonetheless, the pure art of it was lovely," Missy continued. "The blood splatters truly complimented the deed itself."

"I doubt the Winchesters will be as taken with it as you," Rowena said deviously.

"Oh, Winchesters," Missy rolled her eyes. "Those two boys? Haven't met them. Well, I did meet one – I shot him."

"The Winchesters, the Doctor, and my son," Rowena said bitterly. "All the people I hate most in the world have come together. It's simply unfair."

"Is that why you helped Lucifer?"

Rowena smiled sweetly. "Lucifer is a grand master, darlin'. Skilled in all things pain, torture, and suffering."

"I can't wait to meet him," Missy said matter of factly.

"Yes, well," Rowena sighed. "We have to do something first. Lucifer and I have already discussed it."

"Please, go on," Missy gestured.

"He's in position," Rowena continued. "Sam Winchester has agreed to be his vessel. The rest of the plan is up to us."

"Where do we start?" Missy asked, hoping she was keeping up. She got distracted ever so easily.

"They still have my codex," Rowena said, taking another sip of her tea. "In addition, during my planned confinement to their dungeon, I noticed quite a few things that would come in handy for us."

"How should we proceed, then, Rowena dear?" Missy asked, picking at a biscuit from the tray on the table. This garden really did have spectacular views – though the corpses she and Rowena had laid to waste spoiled it a bit. "I have the feeling manipulating the vessel of Satan won't be easy at this particular point. It's too obvious."

"I agree," Rowena nodded, folding her hands together daintily on her lap. "Which is why we're going to _convince_ Dean Winchester to give us what we want."

"I'm lost," Missy admitted after a moment. "How?"

"Take away a child's favorite plaything, and they will desperately try to get it back," Rowena said. "They'll even trade their lesser toys to get it back. Trust me, dear. I'm a mother."

"I'm always up for a good old fashioned hostage situation," Missy said slowly. "Madness is sort of my thing. However, if I'm not mistaken, the only person Dean Winchester cares about more than himself is his brother."

"And you'd be right, up until recently," Rowena replied. She reached for her bag, opening it and drawing a set of photos from it. "But as it seems, he's taken an interest in a new toy."

Missy frowned, taking the photos. There were three of them, all from security cameras, all featuring Dean Winchester and a female companion – in one they were inside the hotel, and he was shielding her from the gore. In another they were walking into their motel, holding hands and smiling.

In the last one, a picture from across their hotel of the two sharing a passionate kiss, Missy realized who the woman was, and couldn't contain her maniac laughter.

"This plan gets better and better!" she exclaimed happily. "As it happens, my dear Rowena, this girl just so happens to be one of my favorite people to torture."

"Well then, that will be your job when Dean doesn't cooperate," Rowena said, standing.

Missy squealed with joy, jumping up and following the witch. She stooped at the corpse of the server, his jugular split open and his blank eyes staring off, and bowed to him. "Thank you for the tea," she said pleasantly. "It was lovely."

* * *

Petra fiddled nervously with the sleeve of her new pantsuit, feeling odd in it. She had tried her best to look intimidating, but it didn't really work, even in the badass suit she was wearing and her best pair of oxford heels (the only heels she could wear, to be honest). She pulled her hair into a sleek, professional ponytail, and had traded out her glasses for her rarely-worn contacts. Perhaps she looked slightly more intimidating without the scarf and glasses and rushed style, but she was still small, short, and anxious.

"We look like Mulder and Scully," she said, seeing Dean approach in the mirror. He was wearing his own suit, combing his hair, and stopped behind her.

"Can I be Scully?" he asked, keeping a straight face as he straightened his tie.

"This is mad," Petra said, turning to look at him. "What's the point of having U.N.I.T. clearance if I can't use it?"

"Because," Dean said, straightening her collar. "Anyone hears the name U.N.I.T. and they're gonna blab. Jack says Missy could be keeping tabs on U.N.I.T. so we're not taking any chances."

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath.

They packed up the Impala and drove back to the hotel where Rowena had been staying, which was now a crime scene. Cop cars were parked everywhere, yellow tape was strewn about the building, and bodies were being taken from the building in body bags. Rubberneckers and bystanders were trying to look, but the cops had them contained.

Dean approached an officer, flashed his badge, and the officer nodded them through. Dean confidently strode straight towards the chief of police.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice unwavering, and Petra couldn't help but be impressed. Dean held up his fake badge, and Petra hurried to do the same. "Agent Sylvester, FBI," he introduced himself. "This is my temporary partner, Agent Baker from MI5."

The chief narrowed his eyes. "What's MI5 got to do with this?"

 _That's it,_ Petra thought. _We're done for. Goodbye, world. Maybe jail won't be so bad. I hope they get the history channel._

"Some of those victims are UK citizens," Dean said, nodding at the hotel. "MI5 is required to send someone from their jurisdiction."

The chief nodded, and Petra felt relieved _. That worked?!_

"Any idea who did this?" Dean asked, folding his badge back into his pocket and nodding at the hotel.

The chief sighed. "So far, we got no leads. The media is already calling it the Queens Massacre. Honestly, Agent, this whole thing is a mess. We haven't released it to the public – don't even know if we will yet, on account of the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Petra asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," the chief nodded. "Looks like those people in there weren't just murdered by some crazy psychopath. They offed _each other_. Looks like the only guest who didn't get killed was some woman by the name of MacLeod. We looked it up, though. Must be a fake name or somethin', cause there ain't a thing on her. Don't even got a first name."

"Do you have any leads on where she might have been heading?" Dean asked.

"Not that we could find. Have a look if you want. I'd rather not go back in there, to be honest. Just had lunch."

Dean and Petra looked at each other, then back at the Chief.

"Thanks for your time," Dean said, handing him a card. "Give us a call if anything turns up."

"No problem."

"What was the point of all this?" Petra asked as she and Dean made their way back to the car.

"Rowena did this on purpose," he said, getting in the car. "She knew we were coming. I just wanted to make complete sure she wasn't leading us into a trap."

"Are you convinced now?" Petra asked, frowning.

He shook his head. "No."

He started the car, and made his way out of the city, slowly, so that it was almost dark by the time they hit the interstate. Dean was unusually quiet, and Petra picked at her sleeve some more, feeling more anxious than usual. She nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone rang.

"Are you alright?" Bonnie asked when she picked up. "You sound upset."

"I'm alright, just on edge is all," Petra replied, relieved to hear her 'sister's' voice.

"Well, you should be," Bonnie continued. "I'm here at U.N.I.T. base London and Kate has absolutely gone mad looking for you. She questioned me for an hour, I felt like I was being interrogated. When are you coming back?"

Petra hesitated, looking at Dean, whose eyes stared straight ahead, his thoughts elsewhere.

"You're not coming back, are you?" Bonnie asked after a moment of Petra's silence.

"I . . . don't know yet," Petra admitted.

"Are you happy there?"

"Tremendously so."

"Then that should be all that matters for you. I'll keep Kate at bay. You take your time with Mr. Hotty. You know, I'm not usually attracted to humans, but those Winchesters could turn me on for anthropoid."

"Right, hanging up now," Petra said, turning red. "Give dad love."

"Will do."

She hung up, taking a deep breath.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked. Petra smiled as he slid his hand over to rest on her knee, holding her smaller hand when he sensed her stress.

"Of course," she said happily, squeezing her hand.

"Good, cause I was thinking," he started.

"About Rowena? Or Missy?" Petra asked, pushing her glasses back on, glad to be rid of her contacts for a while.

"About you," he said, and her heart skipped a beat.

"What about me?" she asked.

"Well, about our situation," he began.

 _Oh, no,_ she thought. _This is how it ends. He's dumping me. I knew this would happen. I just knew it, I knew it was too good to be true._

"Dean, I understand," she sighed, trying to be strong.

"You do?" he looked relieved. "Great."

"It was only a matter of time," she said, turning bright red.

"Yeah, you're telling me. So, when do you want to move in?"

She blinked. "What?"

He glanced at her, frowning. "Move in. With me. Permanently."

She blinked again. "What?"

"I know it's not fair for me to ask you to stay in the states when this is all over," he began. "But maybe you could work out some kind of long distance thing with U.N.I.T. We could convert the basement with the computers into a lab. Then you'd have space to work."

"You . . . you're asking me to move in?" she asked, in shock.

"I know it's kinda fast, call me old fashioned or whatever, but I feel like my girlfriend should live with me," he shrugged. "Just how I feel."

She gaped. " _Girlfriend_?!"

"Well, yeah."

She shook her head in delight and shock. "I thought you were breaking it off!"

"What?" He frowned. "Why would I do that? I'm crazy about you."

She could have kissed him right there. She smiled, thinking of something to say, but just as she opened her mouth, Dean's eyes widened. "Look out!" he yelled, one arm turning the wheel sharply, the other bracing Petra from flinging forward as the Impala rolled down a bank, and flipped down the hill.


	35. Chapter 35

Dean was vaguely aware of his surroundings as he began to blink open his eyes. He couldn't hear anything at first – just a high pitched ringing. Everything was fuzzy, and he squinted, seeing someone's face swimming over him.

"Buddy? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?" A middle aged man was leaning over Dean, his voice distant.

Dean groaned, trying to sit up, finding his head spinning. He heard the man yell "Call an ambulance!"

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, rubbing his head as things came back into focus. He looked around – he was on his back, about fifteen feet from the Impala, which was pretty banged up but had landed on its side. Dean realized, looking down at the shattered glass surrounding – and in – him that he must have been thrown from the car.

His eyes widened as he struggled to sit up. "Petra," he said.

"Hey, take it easy," the man said. "You were just thrown one hell of a distance."

"Petra," he said again, stumbling to his feet. He limped towards the car, going around, searching it.

"We saw there was a woman with you when you went over the bank," the man said hesitantly, following Dean. "But no one can find her. She musta been thrown . . ."

Dean knew better, and his stomach twisted in a knot of fear and anger. He slammed his fists against the Impala angrily, leaning against it, trying to control himself.

"You should really sit down," the man was trying to calm Dean down, but Dean shoved him out of the way as he searched the ground and, amazingly, found his phone cracked but in working condition. He dialed his brother.

"Dean?" Sam answered.

"Sammy," he said, leaning against a tree, trying to calm down. "They took her. Sam, they took Petra. They took her."

"Calm down, Dean – what happened?" Sam was trying to keep his voice under control, but Dean recognized fear in Sam's voice – it was his job to as an older brother.

"This whole thing, it was a trap, just like you said," Dean said quickly. He noticed his hand was bleeding and wiped it on his pants. "And they took her."

"Alright, don't worry, we'll get her back. Okay? Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely, remembering Lisa all over again.

"We'll get her back, everything will be fine," Sam was saying, and Dean was grateful for his levelheaded brother. "Where are you?"

"About twenty minutes outside of the city," Dean said. "One of them – I don't know, they just kinda pushed my car, there was a wreck, she's gone . . ."

"Alright, listen to me. I'm going to go call the Doctor and River to come get you, okay? If they can't, I'll send Clara with a vortex manipulator. Just stay put, alright?"

"Sam," Dean breathed, closing his eyes. "Sam, we have to find her."

"We will, Dean. We'll find Petra."

"And Rowena," Dean said, fury quickly building up inside of him. "We're going to find Rowena, and I'm going to kill her."

* * *

The first thing Petra realized when she woke up was that she couldn't move.

This caused her instinctively to panic, waking fully and looked around. She struggled to move, looking down and finding her wrists and ankles tied tightly to a chair. Her heart started beating faster, her head throbbing. She tried to remember what had happened – there had been a phone call, and an accident, and Dean . . .

Dean.

She looked around desperately for him, but he wasn't there – wherever there was. An old house, with a dusty fireplace and antique furniture, some of which were covered with moth-eaten clothes. The place smelled heavily of must and the windows were boarded up, allowing for no fresh air. She coughed, desperately wishing she could reach her inhaler in her pocket.

 _Think, Osgood_ , her brain said. _Dean taught you how to get out of situations like this. Find out what your captors want, and while they're talking, tense against the bonds. Relax when they leave and try to wiggle free. Remain calm._

 _How can I remain calm?!_ Her heart screamed _. Dean could be hurt, or worse!_

The door opened, and she held her breath. She couldn't decide if she was afraid it would be the witch who walked through the door, or Missy. She felt ill when she realized it was both of them.

"You again," Missy acknowledged her. "I thought I got rid of you."

"You killed my sister," Petra ground out, anger momentarily overwhelming fear.

"Dear, that monster wasn't your sister," Missy tried sympathetically.

"And the Doctor _isn't_ your friend," Petra retorted.

Missy looked offended. "He is my _best_ friend," she replied.

"You're sick, Missy. And he knows it," Petra said, unaware of where this newfound bravery was coming from. "You're not his friend. You're his burden."

"You know, I was just going to use you," Missy said, and Petra gasped for air as Missy wrapped her hand around her throat. "But I think I'll just kill you instead.

"We'll never get my Codex that way," Rowena warned, and Missy looked annoyed, allowing her hand to linger for a moment before pulling it away. Petra took gasps of breath.

"Honestly, _this_ is what all the fuss is about?" Rowena continued, examining Petra. "She doesn't exactly seem like a Dean girl."

"Oh, I know," Missy agreed. "She doesn't look like much."

"As great as this little chat is for my self-esteem," Petra interrupted. "Someone had better tell me where Dean is right now or – or I'll turn into a Zygon!"

"No you won't," Missy snorted. "You can't pull that 'is she human or alien' card with me, stupid. I know the truth. Your bluff won't work here."

"Don't worry your sweet head," Rowena assured Petra, stroking her hair and causing Petra to shudder involuntarily. "Dean will be here soon. And he'd better had my Codex, or you may be losing a few of those wee fingers, dear."

"We'll let you pick which ones," Missy promised.

There was a shrill ringing noise, and Rowena raised her eyebrows at Petra. "I believe that's you, dear." She reached into Petra's pocket and removed the cell phone, looking at the number.

"Speak of the devil," Rowena smirked. "Literally." She answered, and put it on speaker. "Samuel."

"Rowena, I don't know what you're thinking," Sam started. "But Dean's out for blood. If you're smart you'll give her back to us and that'll be the end of it."

"Whose idea was it for you to call, Sam, dear?" Rowena asked, sitting on a dusty sofa and crossing her legs. "Afraid Dean wouldn't be polite enough?" She paused. "He is with you, isn't he? Let me speak to him."

"Rowena –"

"Missy, dear," Rowena said nonchalantly. "Some motivation for Mr. Winchester?"

"Certainly," Missy replied, reaching around and grabbing Petra's ponytail, yanking her head back by her hair and causing Petra to cry out. Missy held a polished silver knife to her throat, ready to strike. "How much blood is _too_ much, Rowena?"

"Don't touch her!" Dean snarled, taking the phone from his brother. "Rowena, I swear to God, when I find you –"

"Always with the flirting, Dean, honestly, your girlfriend is _right here_ ," Rowena teased.

"Just tell me what you want, bitch."

"No foreplay then? Fine." Rowena stood, walking around leisurely. "The Codex, for one. Along with those things Miss Oswald and I found in your dungeon, including the journals, and if even so much as a _page_ is missing . . ."

"I get it," Dean snapped. "I swear to God, Rowena, if you hurt her –"

Rowena rolled her eyes and hung up.

"Missy," Rowena said, turning. "We have work to do."

Missy reluctantly stepped away from Petra, glaring for a moment.

"Do make yourself comfortable," she remarked as they left.

Petra released the breath she had been holding and relaxed her body, which she has tensed when they had come into the room. Immediately she could feel wiggle room in the rope around her wrists, and went to work trying to free them.

After fifteen minutes and some painful rope burn, she was able to get her right hand free and untie her other hand and feet. She stood, looking around, trying the doors which of course were all locked.

She grabbed the fire poker from the floor and went to work on prying off the boards on the windows, her already sore muscles crying in agony. Finally, one fell off with a clatter, and she was able to look through the grimy glass.

Snow was heavy on the ground, and was falling from the sky in heavy flakes. Even if she could escape, she thought, she wouldn't get very far. Feeling distraught, she sighed heavily and tried to come up with better options. She could rip the leg from a chair and use it as a weapon – or better yet, the firepoker. But either one of the women were enough to overpower her. Her cell phone was gone, so that was a dead end as well.

 _Think, Osgood,_ she told herself, before noticing the ancient garage like building a few feet from the house.

Petra didn't know a lot about cars or workshops, but she did know that garages usually had gasoline.

She grabbed the fire poker again, and beat it against the window a few times. Finally, it shattered. She shrugged out of her jacket and laid it on the windowsill to avoid the glass as she pulled herself through it.

There was nothing around for miles besides trees and snow, and she wondered if there was any way for her to make sure to be rid of Rowena and Missy before she went off.

Then her plan came to her.

She entered the garage, looking around in the dim lighting. There was a thick layer of dust on everything, and she sneezed.

"Alright," she muttered. "There's got to be some petrol around here . . ."

She did find some, after several moments of searching – an old gas can, about halfway full. She set it by the door and went to work searching for the rest.

In the end, she headed back to the house with the gas can, a few glass bottles, a first aid kit, an old can of motor oil, a book of matches, and a plan in mind.

She sat on the floor, making the Molotov cocktails – three altogether. She sat one on one side of the room, one on the other side, and kept the last one. She had to rip her jacket to make the wicks, and was seriously regretting it as the cold set in.

She poured the rest of the gasoline into a bucket, balancing it on an end table, which she placed behind the door where Rowena and Missy entered. Then, she crawled back outside, huddling a few feet from the window, cocktail in one hand, matches in the other. If her math was correct, when they opened the door, the bucket would spill. The splash radius would reach each cocktail inside, and would be ignited by the one Petra ignited and threw, causing for a larger, more lethal explosion. Simple science.

Of course, she'd only ever read about this, so she prayed it worked.

She waited for almost an hour, soaked and shivering, for them to come back. She was debating making a run for it and seeing how far she got when she heard the muffled voices of Rowena and Missy entering the house.

". . . he'll be delivering our items, and then we'll simply kill them both," Rowena was saying as she opened the door, Missy behind her. The bucket spilled, and she frowned. "What in the –?"

"What is that god awful smell?" Missy demanded, wrinkling her nose.

Rowena's eyes widened. "Get down!"

Petra struck a match, lighting her cocktail, and her eyes met Rowena's furious but frightened ones as she threw it.

It went perfectly to plan – too perfectly. The blast radius was huge – too big for Petra to get away.

She was blasted backwards, and blacked out for several long moments. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't move again, but this time it was shock and pain.

She waited a few moments before forcing herself to sit up.

The house – what was left of it – was burning heavily, thick smoke billowing above it. _I'm not being attacked,_ she thought. _So Missy and Rowena must have been caught in the blast._

She forced herself to stand, her entire body throbbing in pain. Her left sleeve was gone, her skin pink and shiny. A large blister was forming on her torso, and several small ones on her neck and shoulder. She picked some glass from her hair, feeling small trickles of blood forming on her scalp. A deep, painful cut was streaming steadily from above her left eyebrow. She was unable to move her right wrist at all, and already black and purple bruises were forming on it. All in all, though, her injuries weren't severe, and she counted herself lucky.

She took a deep breath, her ribs aching in protest, and she turned, walking north.


	36. Chapter 36

The first thing Dean saw when he arrived at the meeting spot was the smoke.

The entire building, if that's what it had been, was burning slowly and steadily, and his stomach lurched with sickness.

"No," he muttered, stopping the car and getting out. "No."

"Dean!" Sam called, getting out of the passenger seat and following. They stopped in front of the fire, eyes wide. Dean's blood was roaring in his ears. Sam grabbed his shoulder, steadying him.

"She was in there," Dean said, unable to comprehend the idea of Petra being . . . "God, Sam, she was _in there_."

"Dean, look," Sam said, pointing. Dean followed his glance, seeing footprints not far off, blood flecked here and there.

"Get the car," Dean told Sam. "Follow the road, she might have found her way to it. I'm going to follow these tracks."

Sam nodded, running to get into the car. Dean began to follow the prints, jogging along in the dark, hardly able to see. About a mile and a half in, Sam called.

"Anything?" Dean demanded.

"No," Sam said. "You?"

"No, not – I see her!"

"I'm following your cell phones GPS to you guys. Stay where you are."

Dean hung up. "Petra!" he yelled, running towards her. She was leaning against a tree, eyes closed, though she opened them a bit when she saw Dean. He fell to his knees in front of her. She was covered in soot and blood, and her lips were turning blue. He yanked his coat off, wrapping it around her.

"Hey," Petra smiled weakly after a moment, and Dean felt relieved.

"What the hell happened back there?" Dean asked, pulling her gently against him and rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up.

"I did like you said, to escape. Then blew them up."

Dean looked shocked. " _You_ blew the place up?"

"It was simple science," she muttered, closing her eyes, muttering about formulas and calculations.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't close your eyes," he told her. He heard a rumbling noise not far off, and a car horn beep.

"Look, Sam's got the car, he's there," Dean said, trying to keep her awake. "You almost made it, baby. A few more yards and you woulda found the road."

"I'm a quitter."

"You're not a quitter," he told her, lifting her gently and holding her against him as he followed the noise of the car. "You're a freaking badass."

He got into the back of the Impala, and Sam turned the heat up all the way.

"Stay awake, sweetie," he told her. "C'mon, talk to me. Tell me about Einstein or something."

"I'm cold."

"Yeah, I know," he told her, holding her closer. Her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed, but Dean kept a close eye on it, making sure she was okay.

"Lucky we got to her in time," Sam said. "Before frostbite or hypothermia could get her."

"She blew up Rowena."

Sam raised his eyebrows, glancing at Petra in the rear view mirror. "Um . . . damn. You sure know how to pick 'em. How's she looking?"

"Banged up," Dean admitted, brushing some hair out of her face gently. "Where's the closest hospital?"

"About twenty minutes away," Sam said. "She's gonna be fine, Dean. I promise."

* * *

Petra opened her eyes, panicking a bit at first. She sat straight up, and found that was incredibly painful. She looked around, frightened, unaware of where she was.

"Easy, Xena," Dean said, approaching her from where he'd been resting on the couch.

"Dean," she breathed, her throat incredibly sore. "I thought I dreamed you."

"Yeah, I'm pretty much too good to be true, huh?" he teased.

"Shut up," she said hoarsely, leaning back into the pillows. "You know what I meant." She looked down at her wrist, heavy in a cast. "Broken?"

"Nothing major," he told her. "Small break. You've got a few cracked ribs, and you inhaled a lot of smoke, so your throat is going to hurt for a few days. A few burns. Lots of scratches, Mrs. Thirty-Six Stitches."

" _Thirty six?!_ " she felt the scratch above her head, wincing.

"Eight up there, the rest on your legs and arm," Dean said, sitting beside her bed and taking her good hand in his.

"I must look awful," she said, suddenly very self conscious, her head sinking into the pillows.

Dean leaned forward, kissing her gently. "You look beautiful."

She smiled weakly, turning a brilliant shade of pink, squeezing his hand. "I did okay, huh?"

"Okay?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding? You're the most awesome chick in the world. That was badass back there."

"Am I as cool as Daenerys?"

"Way cooler than Daenerys," he laughed, stroking her hair.

Her smile grew, and she looked to the left, seeing a large bouquet of flowers in a vase. She frowned. "Who are those from?"

Dean glanced at them, and sighed. "Crowley. They're 'Thanks for killing my evil bitch of a mother' flowers.'"

"Well that's nice, isn't it?" She paused, looking back at Dean. "Do you really think they're . . .?"

"I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "Even if they are still alive, they're definitely slowed down for a while."

"Silver lining, then." She looked up as Sam entered the room.

"Hey, Osgood," he said, standing awkwardly as though he were afraid he were intruding. "How're you feeling?"

"I've had worse."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"No," she admitted. "But it sounded better than saying that I feel like hell."

Sam laughed. "Well, good news – the Doc says you can go home in the morning. We'll be out of here soon."

"Why don't you try and sleep till then?" Dean suggested.

She nodded, then winced. She hesitated. "You'll be around, yeah?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he swore. "Except to get you some water." He paused. "Hey, I love you."

"Mm, I know," she grinned, and he grinned back, glad he finally found a girl who looked good naked, could kick ass, and quote _Star Wars._


	37. Chapter 37

**Surprise! Betcha thought I was gone for good. It is not so!**

 **I'm not going to explain why I was gone for so long because I don't have the emotional strength to go through it again, so here's Dean fighting with an arch angel about jewelry.**

 **Yeah, it's good to be back.**

* * *

Dean leaned against the door frame of his bedroom late the next night, watching Petra. She was fast asleep, hair sprawled out around her face, which was turned slightly to the right. Her chest rose and fell slowly, in a peaceful rhythm Dean could easily get lost in.

His guilt was overwhelming. Every time he glanced at the cast on her arm, or the various stitches, or anytime he rubbed her burns with medication and helped her get dressed, his heart would squeeze inside his chest and the hair on the back of his neck would stand up.

He headed for the kitchen, unable to sleep despite the comfort of his lover beside him. He sighed, running a hand over his face, and pulled a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cabinet. When he turned, though, he almost dropped them both.

His father was standing in front of him, young, just as he was before Dean was born. He looked tired, and had that expression on his face, the expression Dean knew damn well no matter what his dad looked like.

"What the hell," Dean said.

John looked sympathetic. "Hello, Dean."

As soon as he spoke, Dean could tell the difference. The man standing in front of him – or lack thereof a man – was not his father.

"Michael," Dean said.

"Yes," the arch angel confirmed.

Dean raised an eyebrow, looked around uncomfortably. "So, uh. I guess I must be dreaming, huh?"

"You're very comfortable in your bed next to Miss Osgood," Michael confirmed. "But I needed to speak with you, urgently. I thought this form would be the most welcome of any."

"Not really," Dean sighed, sitting at the small table in the kitchen. "I guess you're here to warn me about Lucifer, and how he's going to double cross us, and bring on the end of the world, blah blah blah?" He drained the glass of whiskey. Dream or not, he wasn't going to have this conversation sober.

"There's no point in warning you about things you already know," Michael said, sitting across from Dean. "Listen closely Dean – I'm sure you've figured out that Rowena is not dead."

Dean nodded, annoyed. "Yeah, I figured as much. Too easy, right?"

"Rowena is much more powerful than you think," the arch angel began. "She didn't just help Lucifer break the Cage – she locked me down. For the longest time I've been unable to move or even think properly."

"How're you here now?" Dean frowned.

"It's not important right now," Michael brushed him off. "What's important is that those objects you had Castiel hide – the ring, the journals, all of it – they're not safe. He's hidden them well, I'll give him that. Castiel always was one of the smartest. But even he can't hide them from Rowena. She has someone helping her."

"Yeah, Missy, we know," Dean frowned. "I guess she's alive, too."

"Rowena isn't just working with Missy," Michael said sharply. "Rowena and Amara have connected. They're searching for the items together."

"Amara wouldn't do that," Dean said quickly, and Michael raised his eyebrows.

"Dean, I understand that this . . . _bond_ . . . with the Darkness is strong, but you mustn't let it cloud your judgement," Michael said. "She's manipulative. More powerful than you can know."

"How bad can she be?" Dean demanded. "We've dealt with worse."

"Worse?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "Dean, who do you think convinced Lucifer to rebel from God?"

Dean was taken aback. "What?"

"Amara never wanted freedom or the love of her brother, or whatever you may believe," Michael said. "Amara wanted _everything_. She wanted power. All of it. She tried to convince all of us – Raphael, Gabriel, Lucifer, and myself – to rebel, and we all resisted for a very long time. In the end, it was Lucifer who trusted her, and because of it, Lucifer _fell_."

Dean was in shock, and for a moment, could almost feel the Mark of Cain. He could feel the desire to kill and rebel, and the hate and anger and revenge he had wanted, and for a moment, he understood. The Mark of Cain wasn't just a demonic symbol. It was Amara's power, her feelings. And Lucifer had taken it with him when he fell.

"When Lucifer realized what Amara had done, he took what Darkness was left after Amara was banished and he gave that Darkness to Cain because he was strong enough to hold it," Michael continued. "And Cain gave it to you for that same reason. But when it was released, it all went back to Amara. There is nothing stronger than her. No one can stop her, not without an immense level of power."

"What do you need me to do, then?" Dean demanded. "Say yes to you? Cause I've been down this road before and you know how it goes."

"I'm too weak to leave the Cage," Michael said. "I can guide you on this but chances are good that the Cage is where I will remain indefinitely. The only the thing I can do is offer you guidance. Lucifer has a personal vendetta, Dean. It could get Sam killed. It could get you all killed."

"Rowena has been working with Lucifer this whole time," Dean frowned. "That much we had figured out. Why would she strike a deal with Amara if she's loyal to Lucifer?"

"Rowena is angry Lucifer didn't come to her aid after what your friend did," Michael replied. "She's not forgiving – your friend the Doctor can tell you that. Rowena thinks if she has the help of Amara she can be powerful enough to take out Lucifer, Amara, God, everyone. But she won't be. The power will destroy her, and have disastrous consequences. That much power has the potential to break all borders between Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Earth. It will all merge together and the world will destroy itself."

"What do we do?" Dean demanded again.

"One of you has to put on the Ring," Michael said, his voice deadly serious. "The Ring of Solomon will grant the wearer the control they need over Hell, and whoever the wearer is will be just as powerful as Rowena. They're the one who will have to wield the burden of danger, for the sake of the world."

"Which of us has to do it?" Dean demanded. "How are we supposed to decide something like that?"

"It's already been decided," Michael told him. "They have to put it on. They'll know when."

"Who?"

There was a rumbling overhead, like thunder, and Michael looked up.

"The Cage is trying to collapse on me," he said quietly. "I have to go, before I'm trapped for good. Good luck, Dean. If you need to get into contact with me, talk to my brother. He can help."

"Yeah, I somehow don't see Lucifer agreeing to that," Dean remarked.

Michael gave a small smile. "I wasn't talking about Lucifer."

He disappeared, and suddenly, Dean's eyes snapped open and he sat straight up in bed.

Petra rolled over beside him, muttering about the chameleon circuit in the TARDIS, and began to snore lightly.

Dean took a few deep breathes. He tried to regain his composure. Did he tell Sam about this? Telling Sam would also be telling Lucifer.

To hell with Lucifer, he thought, standing and throwing the blankets off. He shoved his feet into some slippers and made his way toward his brothers room.


	38. Chapter 38

Dean had one hell of a time explaining to the others that an arch angel that looked like a young version of his dad had appeared to him in a dream and demanded that one of them risk their life for a piece of jewelry.

Castiel, obviously, was skeptical. "How do we know this was Michael?" he frowned, leaning forward on his laced fingers.

"I don't know who else it would be," Dean admitted begrudgingly. "Rowena wouldn't go through a show just to tell me she's not dead, and since Lucifer is in Sam –"

"I thought we agreed to stop phrasing it like that," Sam frowned.

"– then who else could it be but Michael?" Dean finished.

"Amara?" Clara suggested, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat.

"No, I'd have known," Dean said. "I don't know what it is, but whenever she's around, I just know."

"Wonderful," Petra muttered. "Perhaps we should move the items, though, at least – the part about Rowena being able to find them is more likely than not true."

Castiel nodded, standing. "I can gather them, but it will take some time. I scattered them all over. It would be faster if we had multiple people gathering them."

"Any word from the Doc?" Dean asked Clara.

"Not since he left to try and track down Missy, but I can give him a call," she said, standing and stretching. "I've been dying to get back in the TARDIS anyway."

"Alright," Dean nodded. "Sounds good."

"Dean," Sam said as the others left. "Can I talk to you?"

Dean nodded and gestured toward the kitchen. His brother followed, shutting the door behind him.

"Man, I thought we were into some crazy stuff before," Dean said as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He offered one to Sam, who shook his head, and Dean popped the cap off and took a drink.

"Dean," Sam said, and Dean was suddenly worried at his brothers nervous tone. "You can't let me near that ring. Lucifer wants it and he wants it bad."

"Yeah, I figured it'd be something like that," Dean sighed.

"You know otherwise, I'd be the one to put that ring on in a heartbeat," Sam assured him. "If one of us has to, it should be me – but Lucifer is too dangerous. He's screaming at me just for telling you this."

"Well, you won't have to worry," Dean said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "The ring is the last thing we're bringing in. You'll be safe." He hesitated. "How you holding up, anyway?"

"I've . . . been better," Sam admitted, and they sat down at the table. "To be honest things aren't as bad as they could be – but he's still Lucifer, and he still holds grudges. I haven't slept since he's been in my head – the only rest I get is when he takes over. Between the nightmares and the worrying I do over you guys . . ."

"Hey, don't forget, you're the one with the power over him," Dean said quickly. "He gets to be too much and he gets evicted, got that?"

"We need him, Dean, to win this fight," Sam said, standing. "Things will work out. That's what you always say, right?" he clapped his brother on the shoulder and left to find Clara.

She was in their room, her phone held to her ear and grinning as she finished up a conversation.

"Yeah, no problem. Sure. See you then. Bye." She hung up and looked at Sam. "He's on his way, he just has to stop by Bermuda for something . . . I don't ask questions." Her smile faltered as she caught his expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. The usual." He sat on the bed and rubbed his head. "Would an entire bottle of NyQuil kill me?"

"It would certainly be unpleasant," Clara agreed, sitting beside him. "That tired, huh?"

"Even when Lucifer's not trying, I still have nightmares," Sam nodded. "I think just being this close to him affects me."

"What if I took him on for a few hours then?" she suggested.

"I would never, ever let that happen," Sam vowed, putting his arm around her and pulling her to him. He kissed the top of her head. "I might not get you back."

"I'll always come back."

For some reason, the words relieved Sam more than anything else could. He settled into bed, Clara pulled against him, and within a few seconds was falling asleep.

His dreams started out okay. He was walking through a field, looking for Clara, who had set up a picnic for the two of them. The sun warmed his body and Clara's scent clung to the air, sweet and strong. The only sound was from a creek a few feet away.

After a moment, though, he could hear the faint sound of Clara calling for him.

"Where are you?" he called, frowning. He could hardly hear her, but it was there, and she sounded like she was in trouble. He began walking, the sun making him warmer.

And warmer.

And warmer.

Things became too hot to bear, the sun impossibly close and bright. He could hear Clara clearly now, screaming his name.

"Clara!" he called. "Clara!"

He spun around, and his eyes widened – he stood on the edge of a dark bit. The sky had gone black around him and below him a fire raged angrily. His heart beat faster when he caught sight of the chains and hooks in the dim red lightning. Clara's scent was gone, replaced by the strong smell of blood and rust and sweat.

He knew where he was.

He backed away from the pit slowly. He wasn't really here, he desperately tried to tell himself. It was a dream, a nightmare, because Lucifer was in his head . . .

All rational thought escaped him, though, as he caught a glance of something – _someone_ – hanging overhead, limbs protruded by hooks and chains and spikes.

Clara hung lifelessly, only enough strength to scream and cry for Sam. Her clothes were shredded, and so was her skin, blood steadily dripping from her as her body started to burn.

Sam stepped back. "No," he said. "No. No! Clara! Clara!"

He woke with a start, drenched in sweat and sitting straight up in bed. He looked around desperately for Clara, the scent of Hell still fresh around him.

"Clara?" he called.

"Hmm?" The bathroom door opened, and she frowned out at him. She was dressed in her pajamas and was combing her hair out. She frowned. "Sorry, you were sleeping steadily so I wasn't going to wake you to get changed for bed. Are you okay?"

"Clara," Sam said, relieved that she was here but still in a state over what he'd seen. "I need you to tell me the truth."

Clara frowned and set her hairbrush down, turning to him. "Of course, Sam, but what do you mean?"

"Did you sell your soul?"


	39. Chapter 39

**I hope you guys have enjoyed these last three chapters! I'll be updating more now that school is almost over with, so hang in there!**

* * *

Her face told him all he needed to know.

Sam shook his head, unable to comprehend what was happened. This wasn't happening. It _couldn't_ be happening. Not to her. Not to Clara. God, no, _anyone_ but Clara . . .

"Why?" he finally asked.

"The short version?" her voice was quiet, calm but guilty. She sat on the bed and took his hand, and Sam held onto it as though it would suddenly be yanked away at any moment. "I had nothing left to lose. We were losing you and I was scared. I had to do something. So I traded it for an opportunity to speak to Lucifer, just long enough to find out why God was attacking you. Things went south from there."

"God, Clara. I can't . . . this is all my fault."

"No," she said firmly, laying her hand on the side of her face and making him look at her. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare do that thing where you blame yourself. I made this decision and I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving your life."

Sam cringed at the words and their harsh truth. The agony he was feeling was present and obvious in his face; even Lucifer had quieted down to watch the show.

"How long?" he finally forced out.

"Does it matter?" she asked quietly.

"How _long_ , Clara?"

She was silent for several long moments. "Three years."

Sam took a desperate, shaky breath. His eyes welled up and he bowed his head, desperately trying to keep from falling apart. He could fix this. He _would_ fix this.

"We have time, then," he said in a rush. "We have time, I can talk to Crowley, I'll make him give it back, or, or I'll kill him if I have to. We'll finish this thing with Amara and everything will be okay."

"Sam," Clara said, her voice too calm, too at ease. "I'm going to die."

"No, no you're not, we'll stop this –"

"I don't mean because of my soul."

Sam stopped his rambling, looking at her in horrified confusion. What was she talking about?

"I found out a few weeks ago," she started, not meeting his eyes. "But I think . . . I think I've known for a while now. The reason the Doctor left is because I'm supposed to die, and I'm supposed to die soon."

They were silent; Clara from guilt and thoughtfulness, Sam from shock, and Lucifer from sheer interest.

"Do you remember how I told you that I've lived before?" she asked. "That I was born to save the Doctor? I don't remember those lives. Not all of them. Bits and pieces, sometimes, but almost always my deaths. And in every death I've seen, there's something similar at the end – there is _always_ a raven. An image in a painting, or flying by, something." She paused. "When I was in the Cage, when Lucifer was . . . torturing me . . . I saw the raven. And I've been seeing it ever since – in my dreams, mostly, or when I'm not paying attention. When the Doctor came back and told me I'm supposed to die, I knew. I know it's time to face the raven."

"Clara," Sam started.

"It's alright," she said, smiling at him gently. "I understand why it has to be me. You and Dean need to stay here and save the world. And if anything happens to me along the way, you have to promise me that you'll keep going. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

"No," Sam said quietly. "Clara, don't make me do this."

"You have to," she said simply. "Sooner or later, I have to face the raven. Whether it's before or when my time comes to have my soul collected, we have to be ready for it."

"I can't be ready for it," Sam argued, holding her face. "I can't. Ever. I love you."

"I love you," she whispered, a tear escaping. "That's why you have to promise me." She laid her hands over his. "You saved me when I needed you most," she said. "Let me save you. Let me be brave."

Sam laid his head against hers, holding her, pretending this wasn't happening. He pulled her against him, her cheek pressed against his chest as a few tears streamed down his face.

"I can save her."

Sam glanced at the wall, where Lucifer was leaning with his arms crossed. His face was serious instead of the usual snark.

"I can make sure she stays forever. All you have to do is put on that ring, Sam, and I can make sure no one ever touches a hair on Clara Oswald's head."

Sam desperately wanted to argue, to scream at the angel to go away, to get out of his body and far away from him, but dammit – _dammit_ – this was Clara and he'd never cared about anything more.

He looked at Lucifer, and with the slightest nod, decided what he had to do.

* * *

"What the hell possessed you to bury it here of all places?"

Dean was grumpy and had no problem making it very clear. These woods were cold and unforgiving, and wet to boot. While Castiel seemed hardly bothered at all, they'd been walking for miles, and Dean felt uneasy, even with his shotgun on his back.

"It's just up here," Castiel replied.

A few more feet and they were in a small clearing. The moon illuminated the grass and made it look silver, and on the other side of the clearing was a stone, maybe about knee height, with something carved into it.

As Dean approached it, he realized what they said.

 _Here lies Meg._

 _She is redeemed._

"So this is where you buried her, huh," Dean muttered. He'd known Cas had gone back for her body, but he'd never asked what he'd done with it.

"I buried the ring over there," Cas said, nodding at tree a few feet away.

"Right," Dean nodded, opening his duffel bag and grabbing a shovel.

As he began to dig, Castiel watched silently for several minutes before speaking.

"Sam is worrying you."

Dean glanced at him, then back at his digging. "Gee, what gave it away?"

"I'm going to assume that's sarcasm. You have every right to be worried about him, of course. I take it you've noticed Lucifer has been taking over more lately?"

"Yeah," Dean said, slamming into the dirt again. "It's the only time Sammy can get any kinda shut eye, though. That's what he told me, anyhow. Sam is smart though. If he thinks he's losing control, he'd tell me."

"Unless he took matters into his own hands."

Dean stopped again, brow furrowing. Frowning, he stood, leaning against his shovel. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Castiel hesitated. "Dean, it's only a matter of time before Sam is even further weakened by sharing his body with an arch angel. Consuming demons blood may be his only option to stay in control."

Dean snorted and started digging. "Sam would rather gank himself before putting that crap back into his body."

"I'm saying he might not have a choice. And if he does consume demons blood, you know what comes next. Aggression, out of control powers . . ."

"I know, Cas," Dean snapped, then sighed and looked at his friend. "I know," he said again, calmer. "But I trust Sam. I don't think he's going to go Vader on us."

His shovel hit something and he leaned down, finding a small box and pulling it out. He handed it to Cas, who waved a hand over it and said something in Enochian. The lock clicked open and Dean looked at the ring.

"So that's it, huh?"

"The Seal of Solomon," Castiel confirmed. "One of the most powerful pieces in existence."

"Kinda ugly."

"I don't think the creators were particularly concerned with aesthetic value." Cas shut the box and put it into his pocket. "Until we can figure out who the wearer is, I'd better keep it."

"Yeah, probably smart," Dean agreed, pulling himself out of the hole and filling it. Before they left, though, he stopped.

"Did, uh, you wanna say anything?" Dean asked.

Cas frowned. "About what?"

Dean nodded at the makeshift grave. Castiel's frown deepened, and he glanced at Dean for a moment before approaching the marker.

"Hello, Meg," he said quietly. "I . . . hope you're well. Wherever you are. I hope there's pizza."

Dean hid a smirk and walked away to give the angel a moment at the grave, and looked up at the sky. He sure could use some words of encouragement himself. From who, well, who gave a damn. Bobby would be nice. Ellen. Charlie. Dad. Someone.

Dean sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Too many dead friends to pick who he missed most.


	40. Chapter 40

**School's out and I'm ready to upload! Thanks for all the support and don't forget to rate and review!**

* * *

Crowley couldn't decide if he was more bothered by Lucifer, or by Sam bloody Winchester. It should be an obvious choice but damned if the Winchester hadn't been a thorn in his side for going on seven years. And now the Moose was mad at him for doing business?

Well, it _was_ his girlfriend, but still.

"Look, mate," Crowley huffed into the phone, shooing a demon lackey away. "Deal's a deal. I don't do backsies."

"Whatever your reason for doing this, whether it's to get to me or to make sure I do my job in finding the darkness or whatever, Clara is off. Limits." Sam's voice was low and angry, and Crowley had the feeling he was hiding from his girlfriend and brother in order to make this little call.

"I bought her soul because she was willing to sell, and getting a regular human into the Cage was a big job," Crowley retorted. "And if there is one person out of all of you great prats whose soul is worth something to me, it's hers."

"Why?" Sam demanded.

"Reincarnated souls are extremely hard to find," Crowley replied simply. "The angels don't often allow people to reincarnate. Can be messy, you understand, if they remember something from a past life or meet someone they knew. But Clara Oswald has been reborn dozens of times at least. The more lives piled on one soul, the more powerful."

"And what exactly would you need that much power for?" Sam sounded suspicious.

"Well, there's the little fact that I'll probably end up fighting off _bloody Lucifer, you great oaf!"_

On the other line, Sam grimaced and pulled the phone away from his ear as the angry demon shouted.

"If you don't break this deal," Sam warned quietly. "I will kill you."

"Absolutely shaking, Sam. Aren't we supposed to be working together on this?" He hung up, and Sam cursed.

He sat heavily on a crate in one of the storerooms. He put his head in his hands and took deep breaths, throat dry and eyelids heavy from exhaustion.

"Want me to take over for a while, big guy?" Lucifer appeared to his left, leaning leisurely against the wall.

Sam shook his head, wishing he could be alone for two damn seconds. "Just need a minute."

"You're weak," Lucifer stated. "Tired and, if I'm not mistaken, thirsty?"

"I'm not talking about this," Sam stated firmly.

"Talking about what?"

Sam looked up, startled, when he didn't hear Clara enter. She passed right through Lucifer, frowning and tilting her head. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Fine," Sam said, standing. "Just tired. I think I need a nap or some coffee or something."

"How about you go lie down and I'll bring you hot tea?" she suggested, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a moment. She didn't object, instead leaning into him as Sam took in her scent, her warmth.

He released her after a moment and as they headed up towards their room, they heard Petra talking in the main room.

"So I pulled everything on 'Loki' and found some approximate dates where he's mentioned." She pointed to a book, and Dean set his beer down, leaning over her shoulder to look at the book. "And one story from Victorian Era London."

"Seems like a bit of a drive," Dean remarked.

"Not for a time machine. Which happens to be parked in the garage right now."

"The Doctor is back?" Clara asked, entering the room.

"Just last night," Petra nodded. "He was looking for you earlier."

"What's this about Loki?" Sam frowned.

Dean took a deep breath. "Alright, Michael told me we might need some help and that I should try and talk to his brother. At first I thought he was talking about Lucifer, but seeing as talking to him wouldn't do anything but give me an ulcer, I figured maybe . . ."

"That he was talking about Gabriel," Sam frowned. "But . . . Gabriel is dead."

"Cas says he ain't," Dean shrugged.

"Isn't. And if he truly is as clever as you say, I would at least give looking for him a shot," Petra said.

"Finally, a chance back in the TARDIS," Clara said in excitement.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam frowned at her. "What about the –"

"It's not some street in present day London, Sam, it's in the past," Clara said, and he could tell that there'd be no argument.

"Well one of us should go, too – he might not believe any of this other wise," Dean said, looking pale. "And since Sam is a little preoccupied with the Devil inside of him –"

"Stop phrasing it like that!"

"Then I guess I'll go," Dean finished.

Clara grinned. "You're looking a little sick, Dean. Don't worry – the TARDIS only crashes occasionally."

"You're not helping," he said, pointing at her.

"I should go too," Petra said.

"You should stay here, and rest," Dean said, laying a hand on her shoulder and kissing the top of her head.

"But –"

"I promise you'll get your ride in the TARDIS, Osgood," Clara promised. "But we could use you here." She hugged her quickly and whispered, "Keep an eye on Sam for me."

Petra huffed but nodded, looking at Dean. "Don't have too many adventures without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he promised, leaning down and giving her a quick kiss. "Alright. Guess I'd better go talk to the Doc."

* * *

"Whaddya mean, 'no'?"

"It's means, no. It's a noun, actually, meaning a negative answer or decision. I use it quite frequently, you can ask Clara or River."

Dean rolled his eyes, following the Doctor around as he moved about the TARDIS, doing god-knows-what and never taking a second to actually look at Dean. Clara had her arms crossed, leaning against the console and waiting for the argument to end.

"Man, I thought you were supposed to be helping us with this," Dean argued.

"I am, by finding Missy and Rowena," the Doctor replied, glancing at a screen on the console.

"Yeah, you're doing a bang up job of it," Dean retorted, and the Doctor did take a moment to glare at him.

"What's going on out here?" River entered from one of many corridors, frowning. She must have been working on something; she wore an old pair of grease stained overalls and a bandana over her wild curls. She was wiping her hands on an old rag.

"Same old. We're trying to save the world but the Doctor's being stubborn," Clara replied, examining a piece of what looked like a Dalek and shrugging.

"What's the problem, then?" River shoved the rag in her pocket and crossed her arms, looking at the Doctor expectantly.

"Clara is not going anywhere and I'm not taking him in my TARDIS," the Doctor said. He knew the risks for Clara coming along on this trip were low, but he still wasn't prepared for the inevitable.

"It's Victorian London, Doctor," Clara rolled her eyes.

"If you won't take them, I will," River threatened.

The Doctor glared at them and then sighed, walking towards the console. "What's the address?"

"Um, some place in the 1880s, in London," frowned Dean, digging in his pockets and pulling out the address Petra and wrote down. "Thirteen Paternoster Row."

The Doctor glanced at Clara, who was grinning. "Should we call first?" she asked innocently.

The Doctor turned, grabbing a lever and pulling it down roughly. Clara and River were able to keep their balance relatively easily, but Dean tumbled backwards.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered as the TARDIS lurched and took off.


	41. Chapter 41

**Welcome back to the madness! I would like to give a shoutout to all of the people who have followed/favorited/reviewed. It means a lot to me. A very special acknowledgment to gallifreyan-halliwell and Supernaturalfan17980, who have been reviewing and offering feedback since the very beginning! I appreciate all of you very much!**

* * *

Why was time travel a thing?

Ghosts? Okay, not that crazy. Demons? Fine. Werewolves, vampires, angels? Stretching it, but whatever.

Aliens with time machines? Now, why did that have to be a _thing_?

Dean leaned over a bucket. So far he'd kept his lunch – well, his beer and half a cheese sandwich, if you could call that lunch – in his stomach, but with every movement the TARDIS made he felt his stomach roll. Clara was rubbing his back sympathetically, trying to be comforting, while River smirked and the Doctor ignored them.

"It gets easier," Clara promised.

"Nope, don't believe you," Dean choked, trying to keep from upchucking all over the place.

Clara smiled and squeezed his shoulders. "Try not to get any on the rug."

The moment the TARDIS landed, Dean stumbled out the door and threw up behind some bushes.

"He's got a delicate stomach for flying," Clara explained to the others.

Dean stood, coughing, and ran his coat sleeve over his mouth. "Anyone got any gum?"

After his stomach settled and he felt a bit better, he was able to realize – he was back in time. Again.

Victorian London looked totally different from the Wild West or the '70s, of course. Street lamps had fires burning dimly and snow fell lightly on the cobblestone streets. A horse nickered in the distance behind the sound of wagon wheels. The moon seemed eerily close, full and lighting up the dark streets.

"What do you think?" Clara asked, looking amused.

"It's . . . somethin'," Dean admitted.

Clara grinned. "C'mon. I want you to meet some friends."

"Friends?" Dean frowned, following her as she walked toward the door of a house, where the Doctor and River were already knocking. "You have friends in London? In the past?"

Clara grinned again as the door was opened.

A pretty young woman stood at the door in her dressing gown and robe, her soft brown curls falling around her kind face. She looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

"Doctor," she acknowledged. "Professor Song. Clara."

"Hi, Jenny," Clara smiled.

"Come in, please," Jenny said, stepping aside. The Doctor brushed past, River stopped and clasped Jenny's hand for a moment and exchanged a smile, and Clara embraced her briefly.

"Jenny, this is Dean Winchester," Clara introduced her. "Dean, meet Jenny Flint. Part of the infamous Paternoster Gang."

"Don't know I'd I call it infamous, but pleasure to meet you sir, all the same," Jenny said kindly.

"Likewise," Dean said, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. "Paternoster Gang, I know I've heard that before."

"Have you?" Clara raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure there were a few notes in the Men of Letters library," Dean remembered.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Jenny said casually. "We've had several run-ins with the Men of Letters. They've worked with Torchwood a few times, too."

"Really?" Clara asked, surprised.

"Torchwood, what, like Captain Innuendo back there?" Dean frowned.

"You must be talking 'bout Jack," Jenny smiled.

"Seriously? How old _is_ that guy?" Dean demanded, and Clara and Jenny glanced at each other, amused.

"I suppose I'd better wake the Missus," Jenny said. "Make yourselves comfortable. I'll put some tea on." She hesitated. "Don't let Strax give him too much of a shock, Miss," she added to Clara.

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Clara laughed, and Jenny smiled and inclined her head before heading upstairs to fetch Vastra.

"Through here," Clara said, leading Dean into a parlor, where River was lighting some lamps on the wall.

"You seems to know your way around here pretty well," Dean commented, sitting down on a sofa. The Doctor was examining the bookshelf, bent down in front it. He said nothing, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Well, I've spent some time here," Clara said, sitting beside Dean. "See, _someone_ decided to run off last time he regenerated," she said, with a glare at the Doctor.

"I did not _'run off.'_ I knew exactly what I was doing," he tossed over his shoulder, and River rolled her eyes and mouthed to Dean, _"He ran off."_

"So I stayed here," Clara continued, grinning. "We've been good friends with the Paternoster Gang for ages, though."

There was a crash outside, and everyone looked at each other for a moment, frowning. Clara got up and opened a window, peaking out.

"Hullo?" she called.

"Quiet, boy!" came a hissing voice from beneath the window. Clara looked down to see Strax on the ground, crawling through the bushes. "I'm in pursuit of intruders!"

"Intruders, huh?" Clara asked, leaning against the window.

"I believe they arrived ten minutes ago and have somehow managed to infiltrate the house," Strax whispered loudly. "I'll find them and decimate them."

"Decimate seems a bit harsh," Clara pointed out. "Tell me, Strax, these intruders – four of them? Two men, two women? Grumpy, short, big haired and bowlegged?"

"Hey!" Dean yelled from inside.

"As a matter of fact, they were," Strax said suspiciously. "You haven't got anything to do with it, have you, Clara?" He paused for a moment, then looked back at her. "Clara! When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago with the Doctor, River, and a friend of ours."

"I see. Did _you_ see the intruders, then?"

"Strax, get outta the bushes," Jenny called exasperatedly as she reentered the room. She had changed into her uniform and pinned her hair up in a bun, and was carrying a tea tray. She set it down on the table and stood. "Right, Vastra will be down in a moment then," she said, pouring tea and handing out cups. Dean felt a little ridiculous – the cups were very girly and way too small for his hands. Still, he took a drink, and enjoyed it. You got used to having tea a lot when your brother was dating an English girl.

He choked on his drink when the potato entered the room.

"The intruders are gone," the potato said, and Dean coughed again. "I believe they snuck away while I was preoccupied speaking with Miss Clara."

"My fault, then," Clara apologized, trying not to grin as she pounded Dean on the back. He held a hand up, he was fine, but then the potato looked at him.

"Ma'am, I don't remember this one," the odd creature muttered to Jenny, leaning in close.

"No, Strax, that's because you haven't met him yet," Jenny assured him. "That's Dean."

"Ah. Hello, then, _Dean_ ," Strax said, putting emphasis on his name as he bowed a little. "I am Commander Strax of the great Sontaran race."

Dean swallowed. "Uh. Hey."

"Is he incompetent?" Strax asked Clara.

"He's never seen a Sontaran, Strax, give him a minute," Clara advised.

"Of course. More tea?"

Strax refilled their teacups, and Dean tried to remember a time where things had been weirder, but he couldn't think of anything.

"You alright?" Clara whispered.

"I'm just trying to think of a weirder memory."

"Any luck?"

"Nope. But I think I finally got Sam beat – this is way weirder than that time that ghost kidnapped him and forced him to have a birthday party and gay love saved the day."

Clara blinked. "Right. We're definitely coming back to that later." There were footsteps outside the hall, and Clara glanced at Dean. "By the way, Vastra is a lizard."

"What?"

He didn't have time to question her further, because Vastra did in fact enter the room, and she was very much a lizard. She wore a long black gown and gloves that were normal for the era, but her face was very reptilian, green and scaly.

The scary part was, Dean didn't think she was unattractive.

 _What is_ wrong _with you, man?_ He asked himself, then remembered that his girlfriend may or may not be a giant red sucker alien.

"Doctor," Vastra greeted. "Professor, Clara. This is a surprise." She glanced at Dean. "You've brought a friend?"

"Dean Winchester," he introduced himself this time. "I'm a friend of Clara's."

"Then I suppose you are welcome here. What can I do for you?" she asked as she took her seat in her chair. Jenny handed her a wineglass filled with a thick red substance Dean was pretty sure was _not_ red wine. He also noticed how Jenny stood beside her, hand rested on the back of her chair, listening quietly.

"Loki," the Doctor said, not looking up from the book he was reading.

Vastra raised her reptilian brow. "The trickster or the god?"

"Both. Neither." The Doctor laid his book down, pointing at it. "This journal entry of yours is two weeks old, it says you encountered him, but nothing else."

"There wasn't much else to write," Vastra replied. "We had an encounter with the trickster, but he wasn't exactly going against my moral code . . ."

"He was pickin' slummy criminals off the street and giving them funny deaths," Jenny corrected, glancing at Vastra.

"Funny how?" Clara frowned.

"Piano fell on one," Jenny continued. "Another got trampled completely flat – literally. The whole ordeal was very strange."

"Yeah, that's his MO, for sure," Dean said, leaning forward. "Did he uh, say anything? Was there anything weird about him?"

"Told me my mother was a hamster and my father smelled of elder berries, grabbed some cakes off a cart, and disappeared," Jenny shrugged.

"Monty Python jokes and sweets, now I know we're dealing with him," Dean huffed. "Can you tell me where he is?"

"Like I said, he disappeared," Jenny said, looking apologetic.

"I take it this man is not who he says he is?" Vastra inquired.

"Arc Angel," the Doctor mentioned, sipping his tea. "Global scale."

Vastra looked taken aback. "This _is_ serious, then."

"Dean was told by another arc angel to find him," Clara informed her. "His real name is Gabriel. He has history with Dean."

"Or future, as it seems," River commented.

"I'd like to know more about your friend here, Clara," Vastra said, turning to look at Dean. "Who is he, exactly?"

Clara glanced at Dean, who looked conflicted.

"Short story?" he asked. "I'm a monster hunter."

Vastra's eyes flashed, but whether it was with anger or intrigue, Dean couldn't tell. "It seems you've wandered into the wrong house, then."

"Lady, I've been doing this long enough to know the difference between a monster and a friend."

Vastra must have liked that answer. She stood, stepping towards the table and pulling a folded map from a stack of books by the shelf. She spread it out on the table, pointing at three red X's.

"These have been the last places your arc angel has struck people down. Two times I encountered him at the scene, before I confronted him and decided he could go about his business so long as he didn't harm innocent people. There is usually two weeks between each kill, so you've arrived exactly on time," she remarked.

"Of course I did. Where will he hit next?" the Doctor asked as everyone gathered around the table.

"It can't be known," Vastra replied. "The only thing we have is the type of person he goes after."

"Criminals, yeah?" Clara asked, glancing at the map.

"Yes."

"So we find some of the worst ones still breathin' and tail them," Jenny suggested. "Split up and follow 'em. We'll have to run into this trickster eventually, won't we?"

"An excellent idea, my love," Vastra said affectionately, and Jenny beamed a bit. "So that is what we'll do."

"Alright," Dean said, leaning back. "Let's catch us an arc angel."


	42. Chapter 42

Petra balanced her books on her good arm, keeping her normal brisk pace while trying not to drop everything and make a mess, something she was rather good at. As she approached her bedroom door, she frowned, not remembering closing it. She tried to balance the books with difficulty as she crouched down to turn the knob with her bad arm, which was still snug in a sling. She nudged the door open and stood, but stopped, startled, when she saw a woman standing in her room.

She was beautiful, with brown curls and a long black dress that emphasized her curves and assets. She was looking around, examining pictures on the dresser, but frowned and looked Petra up and down.

"Oh," Petra said, startled, her glasses falling down her nose a bit. "Sorry, I didn't realize someone was here. Are you a friend of the boys, or . . .?"

"Who are you?" the woman asked, looking equally as confused and not nearly as friendly as Petra.

"Oh, well, you can call me Osgood," Petra said, glancing around her. "I just – sorry, need to put these down," she said, laying her books on the desk inside the room.

The woman was watching her carefully. "Whose room is this?"

"Ah, mine," Petra said, pushing her glasses back up. "And Dean's. Are you here to see someone?"

Petra felt even more nervous when the woman's gaze narrowed, looking very angry. "Where _is_ Dean?"

"He's . . . out," Petra finished weakly, heart racing. She had a very bad feeling about this. The woman was stepping closer to her, and Petra backed up out of the room, until she was against the wall in the hall. The woman looked her up and down, eyebrows raised.

"And you're his . . . pet?" Surprisingly, she looked a bit curious. Petra wasn't sure how to respond.

"Well, I don't think . . . It's a bit more than . . . S-Sam!" she called, and the woman grabbed her throat, squeezing.

"So you're his then," the woman said bluntly, looking more annoyed now than anything. Her glance changed, though, back to genuine curiosity. "You and Dean. Why you?"

"B-because we love each other," Petra replied, desperately wanting to reach for her inhaler.

"Love?" the woman looked confused again, frowning. "How useless."

"Sam!" Petra called again, coughing as the grip around her throat was tightened.

"Sorry, nerdcore, Sam is currently unavailable," Lucifer said as he strolled into the hallway. "Just little ol' – Amara." He smirked, nodding. "You look . . . well, looks aren't everything. How ya been?"

"Lucifer," Amara replied disdainfully, looking him up and down. "Is that your idea of a vessel?"

"Hey, Sammy and I go way back," he said, leaning against the wall. "Don't diss on the vessel."

Petra glanced at her, trying to pry the hand from her throat. "A little help," she whispered hoarsely.

"Right, right," Lucifer waved dismissively. "Amara, put the brainiac down before you break it."

Amara considered for a moment, before released Petra, who rubbed her throat and coughed, sliding away.

"So whatcha doin' here?" Lucifer asked casually. "More importantly – how're you here? This place is warded out the ass."

"Rowena is very talented," Amara remarked. "You shouldn't have betrayed her."

"You're probably right," Lucifer agreed with a nod. "I'll send her a gift basket."

"Joke all you like, Lucifer. It's not you I want. I want Dean." She looked around, as though he'd be standing there. "Where is he?"

"Not here."

"Then _where_?"

Lucifer gave an overdramatic shrug. "Aren't you a little old for crushes, Amara?"

"Dean is a part of me. He's incomplete without me," Amara said, and she sounded like she meant it. "He'll realize that."

"What, because you both bore the Mark?" Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "So did Cain. Do did I. Are we incomplete, too?"

"It's different, Lucifer. Besides," she added coldly. "You're already broken."

Though Lucifer was smirking, he looked dangerous, and Petra held her breath.

"Get out before I make you wish you were never not-born."

Amara glanced at him, then at Petra. When Petra blinked, she was gone.

She released the breath she'd been holding. She pulled herself up, looking around uncomfortably. Lucifer raised an eyebrow before turning and heading back into the main room.

"Where are you going?" Petra called, chasing after.

"The ward the place. Apparently, any witch warding is as useless as the Winchesters who put them up."

"What about Dean?" she demanded. "Is Dean safe?"

"Don't know. Don't really care," Lucifer admitted. "I'm not exactly Winchester Fan No. 1, you know."

"How can you say that? Sam is your vessel!" Petra said, taken aback.

"Oh, I know. And he's annoying as hell. Sam and I never liked each other, that's what makes this situation so crappy."

"Well . . . thanks for helping me," she finished weakly.

Lucifer glanced over his shoulder. "Don't mention it. The last thing we need in this bunker is _two_ sulking Winchesters."

* * *

Dean felt ridiculous in these clothes.

He didn't see why he couldn't just wear his regular clothes, but Clara said they had to "fit in" and not draw attention to themselves, otherwise Gabriel might not show. Dean thought she just wanted to see the monkey dance.

He looked down and scratched at the sleeve of his coat – why did any coat need to be this long? He reminded himself to ask Cas how he put up with it – and pulled at the too-tight cravat on his neck. Even the shoes were uncomfortable.

"Stop fidgeting," Clara chastised him.

"Easy for you to say," Dean grumped. "You're probably used to this kinda crazy."

Clara grinned and swept off a dark derby hat before placing it on his head. "Dapper Dean," she teased.

He glared. "Your ass looks huge."

She slapped his shoulder. "Shut up, it's the skirt!"

Clara, somehow, didn't look as out of place as Dean did. She wore a beige dress with cream colored lace, her bustle skirt pronouncing her rear and giving Dean some ammo to tease her back. Her corset was tight enough to make Dean's ribs hurt just looking at it. Her hair had been curled in tight ringlets and pinned on top of her head. She actually looked quite pretty, but Dean was too sore to admit that.

River wore a similar gown, in deep blue, almost the exact color of the TARDIS. She'd tamed her hair under a hat, and Dean was at least 98% sure she had at least two guns under her large skirts.

"Our plan starts here," Vastra said, interrupting the others as she approached the map, which she'd pinned up on a board. She was, once again, wearing black, and was sporting a thick veil, though it was currently pushed back.

She pointed at the map. "This is the house of Wilson Dowling. He's mostly known as a smuggler but he's held a smoking gun several times in his days. He doesn't usually leave his home until ten in the morning, where he heads down to the docks. River and the Doctor will follow him." She pointed at a different area. "Madame Elise Esplin. Jenny and I have actually been investigating her due to her involvement in underground slave trade. We'll keep track of her." She gestured to a different are of the map. "And Homer Thorne. He's a doctor, forced into retirement after he used some methods classified as 'extreme'."

"Some say he's Jack the Ripper," Jenny added.

"Which is impossible, because I've already taken care of Jack the Ripper. Stringy, I believe I said," she said nonchalantly.

"At any rate, he's not a good guy," Jenny finished.

"Clara and Dean will trail Thorne," Vastra continued. "He normally never leaves his home."

"Alright, then," Dean said. "Let's get to work so I can get outta these clothes."

They split up, with Strax driving the carriage to their destinations. He dropped off the Doctor and River, then Jenny and Vastra, and finally Dean and Clara.

"I shall patrol the streets and return in three hours," he told them before leaving.

"That guys freaks me out," Dean muttered.

"Strax is okay," Clara said, looping her arm through his. "He's just a little eccentric." She looked at a small townhouse. "This is the place. They said he doesn't leave so I suppose we'll just mill about and see what happens. You take that newspaper stand, and I'll gossip."

"Right," Dean nodded. He headed for the newsstand, tossing a coin at the attendant and taking a paper, opening it and pretending to scan the headlines. He kept his eye on the house, though – he could see Thorne through the second story left window. He was writing, or reading – concentrating on something – and didn't move for a long time. After an hour or so, he headed downstairs, and Dean wondered if this was his chance – but then Thorne wandered back upstairs and went back to whatever he was doing.

Strax came and went, reporting that the others had seen nothing so far. Hours passed and luckily no one seemed to notice Clara and Dean on the busy street.

As the sun began to go down and Dean realized they'd have to give up soon, he noticed Thorne stand up and shout, as though surprised, before the window blew open and Homer Thorne tumbled out, hitting the pavement with an exaggerated splatting noise.

Dean ran towards the scene, where people were gathered, only to be totally grossed out. Thorne was a complete pancake – perfect splatter pattern aside, bones stuck out and brain was splattered everywhere.

"What on earth happened?" someone exclaimed as people rushed around. A few men had gone into the house, seeking foul play. One frowned and leaned out the window, holding up a banana peel. "Looks like he slipped and fell!"

"Oh, for the love of . . ." Dean huffed, turning and looking around.

Gabriel was across the street, watching casually. He grinned at his handiwork and turned.

"There he goes," Dean said as Clara joined him. "C'mon!"

They chased after him, following him as he cut through alleys, always a few steps ahead of them.

"That way," Dean said, pointing at an intersecting alley, and Clara nodded, running down it and cutting off the angel. He stopped when she slid to a stop in front of him, panting.

"Sorry, mate," she said. "Long day."

"Hey!" Dean called.

Gabriel sighed heavily. "Oh, for the love of Dad." He turned, looking Dean up and down. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Me?" Dean demanded, holding his hands out. "What are _you_ doing here? You're supposed to be dead."

Gabriel stared at him. " _Aaaaand_?" he prompted after several long moments.

"What? And nothing!" Dean exclaimed.

Gabriel sighed in annoyance. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Cas."

"Dammit. I shoulda known he'd squeal to his boyfriend." Gabriel crossed his arms. "Alright, I'll humor you, since you came all this way – whaddya want?"

"We've got trouble," Dean started.

"Shocker!" Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing his hands into the air.

"Would you shut up?" Dean snapped, annoyed. "It's about Amara."

That got Gabriel's attention. "Amara?"

"She's back," Dean told him.

"No crap, Sherlock," Gabriel replied. "Every angel knows that. But I want to know how _you_ know."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I may have been the one to let her out."

"You know," Gabriel chuckled humorlessly. "I should be surprised – really, I should be – but I'm not. Here goes the Winchesters, destroying the world again!"

"Hey, we fixed it last time!"

"After almost destroying it!" Gabriel argued. "But there's nothing I can do for you, anyway. Without my brothers, there's no way I can help you. It would take at least two arc angels, maybe more."

Dean hesitated again.

Gabriel groaned. "Do not tell me you guys let Lucifer out!"

"It's okay, it's under control," Dean said, trying to sound confident.

"With Lucifer there _is_ no control, you idiot," Gabriel replied. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with a good name for his migraine. He was thinking 'Dean.' "How 'bout Mikey?"

"Still in the Cage, but he's the one who told me to find you," Dean said. "He's weak but thinks he can help."

"We're gonna have to find Dad."

"You'll help us?"

"Amara is literally the end of the universe," Gabriel said. "In case you haven't noticed, I live in the universe. Who do you have?"

"There's me and Sam," Dean said. "And a few friends."

"You guys have friends?" He glanced at Clara. "Who's this?"

"Clara Oswald," she replied. "Time traveler."

"Well, that can come in handy."

"Just, you know, to put it out there," Dean said, and Gabriel glared at him. "We may or may not have a very powerful witch and a crazy alien after us."

"Fantastic. Anything else?"

Dean hesitated.

"Again, with the hesitating!" Gabriel exclaimed. "What?"

"Amara thinks that we . . . she and I . . . are bonded."

"Why would she think that?"

"Well, I had the Mark of Cain –"

"Y'know what? Save it," Gabriel said, pulling a sucker from his pocket. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. "You got coordinates for me?"

"Yeah, here."

Dean gave Gabriel the coordinates of the bunker, and Gabriel nodded.

"Get your posse and meet me there," Gabriel said.

"Hey!" Dean said as he started to leave. Gabriel glanced back at him.

"How'd you do it?" Dean asked. "How'd you escape from Lucifer?"

Gabriel grinned, waggled his eyebrows, and disappeared.


	43. Chapter 43

**I'd like to apologize for my absence. Things have been very hard for me lately. I've lost someone very important to me and am still coping with the loss. Hopefully writing will help take my mind off of things, so I'll be around. Enjoy the next few chapters!**

* * *

Sam was practically doubled over in laughter, holding his stomach with one arm and gripping the back of a chair with his other hand. Tears sprung to his eyes as he roared with laughter, head shaking and stomach clenching so hard that it hurt, but he didn't care. He was too busy making sure he never forgot this moment.

Dean glared at his brother as he stood outside the TARDIS. He knew he should have changed before leaving the damn spaceship, but Clara had said there was no time and shoved him out the door. Now he had to stand here and watch this.

Clara was grinning too as she made her way out of the TARDIS towards Sam, and Dean realized he'd been played. Damn that 5'2 British she-devil.

"I don't know which one you are right now," Dean warned as Sam – or maybe Lucifer? – stood, trying to sober. "And I don't care. I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Oh, I'm me," Sam grinned, tossing his arm around Clara's shoulders and looking Dean up and down. "That look suits you. You should wear that every day."

"Shut up."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Dickens, sir."

Dean stormed past Sam, slamming the newspaper he'd saved against his brother's chest. "Go back to hell."

Sam grinned, looking down at the paper. "Hey, this is really cool!" he called. "Thanks!"

Dean gave him the finger over his shoulder and went to change.

Still grinning, Sam looked back to Clara. "You look beautiful," he acknowledged, spinning her around so that her skirts splayed out.

"Not gonna laugh at me, too?" she asked, smiling.

"Actually, it's kinda hot," Sam teased, leaning down and giving her a kiss.

"Well, it's certainly very heavy," Clara replied, laying her hands on his chest. "And _very_ hard to get on – and off. I may need some help."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You go get started on the corset. I need to talk to Dean real quick."

Clara nodded, gave him another kiss, and winked before sauntering off. Sam headed towards Dean's room, knocking.

"May I come in, sir?" Sam called in a bad accent.

"I will _murder_ you!"

Sam grinned and opened the door. Dean had changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and was shoving his feet into a pair of boots.

"You seen Petra?" Dean asked as he tied the boots.

"Downstairs," Sam nodded. He hesitated. "Listen, Dean. Amara was here."

Dean stopped tying his shoes and looked up. "What?"

"Last night. I wasn't . . . present, but Lucifer was. Amara was looking for you."

"Is Petra okay?"

"She's fine, it just scared her a bit, I think. Amara is completely obsessed with you, dude."

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, I know."

"Rowena got her in. Lucifer re-warded the place but I'm a bit worried about how long it'll last."

"We'll just have to check them often, maybe make some hex bags," Dean muttered, standing. "I need to go see Petra. You okay, though?"

"Fine, she wasn't interested in me," Sam promised. "Did you find Gabriel?"

Dean huffed. "Oh, we found him. He hasn't shown up yet?"

Sam shook his head, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"He said he'd be here, so I guess we wait," Dean said. He slapped Sam's shoulder. "How you holding up?" he asked after a moment.

Sam hesitated. "I'm okay," he said.

"That sounds fake. But okay." Dean patted his shoulder and headed downstairs.

Sam sighed and shook his head, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Then he remembered Clara and the corset, and without another thought practically sprinted to their room.

* * *

"I've told you, I'm fine."

Petra opened another cardboard box, struggling with the box cutter to get it open. She wouldn't look Dean in the eyes, so he gently took it from her good hand and opened the box for her.

"You sure about that?" Dean asked as she unfolded the flaps and glanced inside. "Because you haven't looked at me since I got back."

"I'm busy, is all," she replied, keeping her eyes firmly on the box and its contents, which was mostly ancient books.

Dean pushed the box away and leaned in front of Petra's chair, looking up at her so that she was forced to look at him. "Come on, Petra. What's up?" he took her good hand in his, pressing a kiss to her palm.

She sighed. "I just . . . didn't realize how serious this Amara woman was about you."

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned.

"She made it very clear that she wanted you, and only you. She didn't want to leave without you. She said that without her, you're incomplete." She looked away again, annoyed with herself. She wasn't a normally petty or jealous person, but she loved Dean. And she was scared for him.

"Hey," Dean said, and she made herself look at him. He stroked her hair, looking her in the eyes. " _You_ complete me. I love you."

Petra softened, melting under his touch. "I love you, too," she said quietly. "I think that's why I'm so worried. I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't want you to leave."

"I'm ain't going nowhere," he promised.

"You _are not_ going _anywhere_. And . . ." she hesitated. "Well, you could have mentioned she was so pretty."

Dean chuckled. "Why? You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She turned bright red, and Dean stood, pulling her up and wrapping his arms around her before kissing her deeply. She relaxed against him, tilting her head and standing on her toes.

"Come on," Dean said, pulling on her good hand gently. "I'll make you dinner and tell you all about 1800s London."


	44. Chapter 44

"Boys! Breakfast!"

Dean and Sam practically raced into the room, clearing the table of the various books and research that cluttered it – Clara didn't make breakfast often, but when she did, the boys loved it. Even Castiel would take a few bites, and the Doctor would help himself to an omelet.

Petra watched in amusement as she sat beside Dean and River poured drinks. Clara sat down beside Sam, laying a napkin over her lap, and the Doctor and River sat on the other end of the table. Castiel sat on the other side of Dean. As orange juice went around and plates were passed back and forth, conversation flowed easily, and Clara was reminded for a moment of a regular family.

Things were finally starting to look up. Jack had been in touch saying they may finally have a lead on Missy and that Torchwood was checking up on, so the Doctor and River could take a while off. Claire and Alex were safe and sound in a safe house with Jody Mills in Maine. Crowley assured them that Hell was on watch for Rowena and Castiel had spoken with a few angels still friendly with him, and they were currently tracking the Darkness. Despite the fact that it was two weeks later and Gabriel had yet to show up, things were calming down.

"How's the arm, Osgood?" Sam asked.

"Getting better," she said, stretching it a bit. "Just a bit stiff."

"It would help if you'd let if rest instead of trying to type away on your little computer," Dean pointed out around a mouthful of eggs.

"That little computer is a state of the art multi-purpose machine that I built myself, thank you very much," Petra replied coolly.

"Right, sorry," Dean said, pouring her some more coffee. "Either way, take it easy on the hand, alright?"

"Clara, what is in this omelet?" the Doctor asked, sliding his sunglasses on and lifting the plate, examining it and the omelet.

"Um, Cheese?" Clara supplied. "Peppers. Onions. Some spices."

"What else?" he frowned. "Something I can't place."

Clara raised her eyebrows. "Eggs?"

"Yes!" he took a bite, hesitated, and nodded. "It's acceptable."

"It's delicious," River corrected, offering a smile to Clara.

"Thank you," Clara smiled.

"Even I must admit, it tastes far less like molecules than most food does," Castiel nodded.

"Thank you, Cas," Clara grinned.

"Can someone pass the waffles?" Gabriel asked innocently from beside Cas.

Petra choked on her coffee, and Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. The Doctor looked up for a moment before looking back down at his food. River was reaching for a weapon.

"What the _hell_ , man?" Dean demanded, patting Petra on the back. "I thought you were on your way!"

"I stopped for some froyo," Gabriel said, piling waffles onto his plate as Clara passed them to him, unfazed.

"Eggs?" she asked.

"Yes, please!" Gabriel agreed enthusiastically, taking the plate.

"You said you were on your way two weeks ago!" Dean complained.

"Two hours, two weeks, two months, it's all the same," Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Hi, Cas."

"Hello, Gabriel."

Sam rubbed his forehead, looking as though he were in pain. Clara frowned, laying a hand on his arm.

"Oh, put a sock in it, Luci, you'll give Sasquatch a migraine," Gabriel snorted, cutting his waffle. "No, I didn't. _You_ did that. Um, yeah, Lucifer, I'm _pretty sure_ you _stabbed_ me. I remember it. Yeah, yeah, apology accepted. For now."

"What, just like that?" Dean demanded.

"What? We don't always agree on stuff, but it wasn't the first time one of us has killed the other," Gabriel shrugged. " _We're arc-angels._ Killing each other is like the equivalent of borrowing something without asking or something. Sure, it pisses you off, but you get over it."

Sam's eyes flashed for a moment, and Clara withdrew her hand. "I'm not apologizing for killing you," Lucifer said, glaring at Gabriel. "I'm apologizing for doing it so harshly."

"Yeah, be much gentler next time," Gabriel replied sarcastically.

"You guys need couples therapy or somethin'?" Dean snorted.

"Shut up, Winchester," the arc-angels said in unison.

Suddenly, the power in the Bunker shut off – the lights flickered off, plunging them into darkness. A machines that were on quit suddenly, making things very quiet, the only noise coming from the Doctor's silverware clanking as he continued to eat.

"What happened?" Clara asked nervously, instinctively reaching for Sam before remembering that it was Lucifer right now.

"Power outage?" Petra suggested in the pitch dark.

"Backup generator shoulda caught it," Dean said. "Anyone got a light or something? Cas, can you see to grab a flashlight or something?"

"Of course." A moment later, Castiel returned from the shelf with a maglight, and Dean flipped it on.

"Alright," he said, grabbing his pistol and shoving it into the waistband of his jeans. "Here's another flashlight; there are some candles under that cabinet. I'm going to check the generator."

"I'd better go, too," Petra agreed, standing. "Lord knows you won't be able to get it working on your own."

"Thanks, honey," Dean said, but Petra didn't catch the sarcasm. "Cas, keep an eye up here."

"Alright."

Clara lit some candles, laying them out about the room. "This is just the generator acting up, right?" she asked Lucifer nervously.

"Let's hope," he replied, and Clara felt annoyed at his nonchalance.

"There are some torches and more candles in the TARDIS," River said, standing. "I'll get them."

"Take the sonic glasses so you can see," the Doctor said, handing them to her.

"Oh, these stupid things . . ." she huffed, sliding them on, and headed for the garage.

She returned a moment later, looking grim in the low candlelight.

"What's wrong?" the Doctor demanded. "Where are the torches?"

"Bad news, sweetie," she said. "The door to the garage is locked."

"Well, sonic it!"

"Would that it wasn't made of wood. It's barred from the other side."

"Generator's a bust, too," Dean said, returning with Petra. "I think we're in trouble, guys."

"I can't leave," Castiel reported.

"Same here," Gabriel agreed, and Lucifer tried as well to no avail.

"Someone is in here," Castiel said. "We're warded in."

"I'd guess some _ones_ ," the Doctor replied. "River, your vortex manipulator?"

"On the TARDIS. We're stuck as well."

"Alright, the girls should go lock themselves in Clara's room while we investigate," Dean started.

"What, hide? No way," Clara argued.

"Not a chance," Petra agreed.

River replied by cocking her guns.

Dean sighed. "Alright. Petra, come with me to check the upstairs. Cas, you and Clara and Sa – and Lucifer, check the downstairs. River, you and the Doc take this floor. Gabriel . . ."

"Yeah?"

Dean huffed. "Come with us. But . . . Don't _touch_ anything."

* * *

"You remember those old episodes of Scooby Doo when the monster would suddenly pop out and chase Mystery Inc all through the haunted house?" Dean grunted as he pulled a large portrait off the wall upstairs, revealing a hidden breaker. He flipped the switches, but nothing happened, and he sighed. "I feel like that's about to happen any second."

"I didn't watch cartoons," Petra replied, shining her flashlight around the corner.

"You didn't – who didn't watch cartoons as a kid?" Dean frowned, glancing at his girlfriend.

"I was usually watching the documentaries or sci-fi shows," she admitted.

"Nerd alert," Gabriel coughed, and Petra laughed.

"I've got a pretty bad feeling," Dean frowned, squinting ahead and seeing something shining on the wall. He got closer, frowning when he realized it was warding. There was a large pulse of energy as the wall cracked, and Dean went flying backwards. Gabriel took a step to the left, letting Dean hit the wall beside him. The arc-angel leaned over the dizzy hunter.

" _Ruh-roh, Raggy_!" he said gleefully.

"Get outta my face," Dean muttered, laying his hand on Petra's arm as she tried to help him up. "What the hell was that?"

"Witchcraft, probably," Gabriel said nonchalantly. "Someone is pulling a B and E."

"We heard a loud crash," River said as she and the Doctor joined them in the room. "What happened?" Her gun was drawn, and she looked around warily.

"Dean hit the wall," Gabriel said casually.

"Anything on the first floor?" Dean grumped, his pride about as bruised as his ass.

"Not that we could find," the Doctor frowned. "A warding sigil was giving off some energy so we opted to stay away from it. I see you don't share your brother's intellect."

"Bite me, Doc," Dean snapped, rubbing his ass as he stood straight. "Where's Clara and Cas and Lucifer?"

"They must still be downstairs," the Doctor said.

"Alright," Dean nodded. "Let's check it out."


	45. Chapter 45

**I hope you've all enjoyed these newest three chapters! Things are starting to really pick up now, so don't forget to rate and review!**

* * *

Castiel pushed a bookshelf aside, revealing a long line of warding inside the dungeon. He and Clara each took a light and checked the symbols.

"All intact," Castiel reported.

"Here, too," Clara agreed. She paused, frowning. "Wait a minute . . . what's this?"

One of the symbols was glowing bright red. Her frown deepening, she stepped closer to examine it. She reached out to touch it, but stopped, looking up as she heard an explosion coming from the upper floors.

"Get down!" Lucifer grabbed her, shoving her to the ground and falling on top of her. There was another small explosion, and Clara's heart raced as she squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the worst. Nothing happened for a moment, and she opened her eyes, feeling claustrophobic.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Lucifer rolled off of her, pieces of brick and dust rolling off his back. He was scratched up, but unhurt for the most part, and Clara was relieved – that was Sam in there, after all, and his body as well.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Lucifer grunted, standing.

"Cas?" Clara called as Lucifer pulled her up.

"I'm fine," Cas said roughly, sweeping some dust from his coat.

"What happened?" Clara asked again.

"Someone wasn't happy with our warding," Lucifer said, examining the busted wall.

"And?" Clara asked, approaching.

"And they blew it up. If I had to guess, Amara is lending Rowena strength. Stay sharp. We're being invaded."

"Do you think so?"

They all spun around in time to see Rowena raise her arms; she said something, and too late they realized she was casting a spell. Cas went flying backwards, slamming against the floor, unconscious. The door slammed shut and locked, and Rowena smiled. Clara rushed to Castiel's side, holding his head in her lap. Glaring at Rowena, Clara noticed freshly healed burn marks up her neck on the leftmost side of her face, and made a mental note to high five Petra later.

"Lucifer," Rowena greeted him. "You look . . . well. You know how you look."

"Rowena," he said with an incline of his head. "I've been waiting for you."

"Really?" she snapped, eyes flashing in anger. "Then where were you when Dean Winchester's little bitch tried to blow me up?"

"Well, I figured you wouldn't let a little human manage to bust you up," Lucifer said, shoving his hands leisurely into his pockets.

"If I'd had it my way, all of these pesky little mortals would have been dead weeks ago," Rowena replied casually. "I'm done playing dungeon tag with the Winchesters and their pets. So Amara and I made a little deal – as long as I spared Dean, I'd get to do whatever I want with the rest of these . . . wastes."

Clara looked down when she felt Cas stir – he was quietly pressing something in her hands. Rolling it in her fingers, Clara realized what it was. Castiel barely opened his eyes, still suffering from the effects of whatever spell Rowena had cast, but Clara understood.

Quietly, she drew his angel blade from his pocket.

". . . can't have Sam," Lucifer was saying. "He's the only one strong enough to hold me. So get lost."

Rowena smirked dryly. "So sorry, Lucifer. But you'll be needing to find another vessel."

Lucifer looked amused. "You're going to take me on?"

Clara ran the blade across her hand, forcing herself not to wince as the blood welled in her palm. Quietly and slowly, she began to draw the symbol on the ground.

"This can be easy," Rowena continued. "Come with me. We'll get what we need from this place and burn it to the ground. Then we can do whatever we want."

"And what is it you need from this place?"

"Oh, this and that. Weapons, books . . . a ring, perhaps?"

"I thought you had no interest in the Seal of Solomon?"

"I don't – but Amara seems to think it could be used to summon something. Or some _one_."

Lucifer was intrigued. "I see."

"So, what do you say?" Rowena asked, looking him up and down. "Come join us and we'll be unstoppable."

Lucifer tapped his chin, and shrugged. "Nah. Get lost."

"I thought you might say that," Rowena said. She flicked her wrist. _"Mortem archangeli."_

Lucifer lurched, grabbing his chest. Blood welled up in his mouth, and he spit it out. "What the hell –?"

"The _Book of the Damned_ is a beautiful thing," Rowena said as Lucifer choked and spit out large amounts of clotted blood. "It _actually_ describes how to kill arch angels – can you believe it?"

Coughing, Lucifer glanced towards Clara. She looked up, panicked at the sight of Sam's body bleeding, and raised her hand.

"No!" Rowena shouted angrily, but Clara slammed her hand against the sigil. There was a flash, and Lucifer and Castiel disappeared.

Clara stood, and Rowena angrily tried to attack with a spell.

"That doesn't work on me, don't you remember?" Clara asked. She glanced at her hand, holding the ring up for inspection. "I don't usually wear a lot of jewelry. I hope this doesn't clash with my outfits."

"Clara," Rowena said carefully, her tone half reason and half panic. "If you put that ring on, every evil thing will come after you. Demons, witches, everything – maybe even angels."

"But I'll be in control of them, yeah?" Clara asked, examining the ring closer. "I didn't forget."

"Your control will only go so far," Rowena snapped. "Put that thing on, and you _will_ die."

An odd look came across Clara's face – curiosity. Amusement. Anger and passion and willpower, all in one powerful glance as she cocked her head towards Rowena.

"I'm already dying," she replied coolly, sliding the ring onto her finger. "Might as well protect those I love while I still can." The metal band, too large for her slender fingers, flickered with light and grew warm before shrinking, conforming to the size of Clara's finger, where it sat snugly. She squeezed her hand and examined the ring before looking at Rowena, who was obviously frightened.

"Mercy," Rowena whispered.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Rowena," Clara promised. "That's not how we operate." She paused. "That being said, you will leave. First you'll fix the warding and you'll bring Castiel and Sam – _and_ Lucifer – back, safely. And then you will never come back here. Ever."

In the blink of an eye, the walls were repaired and the warding back in place. Rowena disappeared, and Castiel and Lucifer were both back on the floor. Lucifer sat up, blood gone. Castiel frowned and looked around.

"Did you do it?" Cas asked gruffly as he stood.

Clara nodded, and Lucifer looked suspicious.

"Do what?" he demanded. "Castiel, what have you done?"

"Did you think I didn't know?" Castiel asked darkly, looking at his brother. "Did you think I couldn't feel you manipulating Sam into stealing the ring and putting it on himself?" He looked at Clara, who was staring at the ring. "You have a lot of power now, Clara," he said. "Please use it wisely."

"No," Lucifer argued angrily. "It wasn't supposed to be her! Only I can handle that sort of power! She has to take it off."

"She can't," Castiel shook his head. "It's bonded to her now."

Lucifer sneered. "What do you think you're doing, Castiel?" he snarled.

"Exactly what Michael has been telling me to do," Castiel said, lifting his head, and when Lucifer realized that this whole time his brother had been instructing Cas behind everyone's back, he withdrew into his vessel angrily, shoving Sam back out.

Sam gasped for breath as he was forced back into his body. He looked around, eyes wide. "Clara – no. Why?" _Why do I have to keep asking why?_ He felt physically sick between what felt like a harsh betrayal from the woman he loved and the anger Lucifer was projecting. His stomach rolled and his heart felt as though it would jump out of his chest. _Why, why, why?_

"To keep you safe," Clara said, approaching him and taking his hands. The ring was cold against Sam's hand, and he shuddered. "To keep all of you safe. If I'm going to die anyway . . ." Sam flinched, and Clara ran her thumb over his fingers. "I may as well die making sure you all stay alive."

Sam swallowed, looking at Castiel. "You knew this would happen?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said sincerely. "I swore my silence to Michael. Especially with you around, Sam – we couldn't risk Lucifer knowing. Only one other person knew." He glanced at Clara, who looked guilty.

"He told me last night," she said quietly, not meeting Sam's eyes.

There was pounding on the door, and Castiel unlocked it. Dean and the others burst into the room.

"We heard an explosion and couldn't get in – is everyone okay?" Dean demanded.

Sam shouldered past him, leaving everyone and heading upstairs.

Clara watched him go sadly – she hated lying to him, and now that he knew everything, things were even worse. She could chase after him, but would he even want her to at this point?

She glanced at the ring on her hand, hating it already, and prayed to a missing God that things would be okay.


	46. Chapter 46

**Hey guys! So just a heads up, I have a new poll on my page - Which Character Do You Want to Cameo in "A Face You Have Known" - so be sure to check that out and vote! As always, you're all the best, and don't forget to review! Have a fantastic day!**

* * *

For what must have been the thousandth time since this whole mess started all those months ago, Crowley considered killing everyone in the whole bloody bunker and just being done with it.

Seemed as though everyone was causing problems. Dean Winchester was so anxiety riddled between the worry for his brother's mental state and his girlfriend's physical one that he had practically gone sober, living on coffee and take out. If anything, the lack of alcohol in his system was making him clumsier and less sure of himself, and therefore less trust-worthy, in a battle.

Sam Winchester was practically a dead man walking. Even if he did manage to survive Lucifer for a while longer, he was fading out often and letting Lucifer have control. Not to mention his protective instincts made him more vulnerable to any of the many, many annoying forces working against him.

Castiel was working behind everyone's back with a half-dead arc-angel. Castiel always did have an intense desire to please whoever gave him orders, whether angelic or hunter or, in some cases, demon. His devotion to this current cause and to the rehabilitation of Michael was admirable, but also very foolish – never trust an arc-angel.

The scientist woman, Osgood – something was so incredibly off about her that she just made Crowley uncomfortable. She was smarter than all of them – himself included, he loathed to admit – but was too self-conscious to take control of the situation. Which of course was lucky for them, because with the right amount of poking and prodding, she'd proved herself to be dangerous in more ways than one.

And then, there was Clara Oswald.

In all honesty, Crowley was quite taken with her – again and again she'd proved herself as both a worthy advisory and ally. She was clever, incredibly so, and ruthless, though not without mercy. She challenged Crowley, and he thoroughly enjoyed it – as a matter of fact, had the giant moose not gotten his hooves on her first, Crowley might have claimed her as his own. But he'd settled for her soul, getting what he wanted.

But now, she held power over him, his mother, his demons, and every other inhuman creature in the world. She could tell him to wear a tutu and do the Macarena if she wanted, and he'd have no choice but to do so. Clara Oswald's word was law and he had to obey.

It would be so easy to snap her neck, he reflected.

Several months ago, at the beginning of this, Crowley had taken the liberty of "losing" some hex bags around the bunker – nothing too damaging, but with the right incantation, he could hear everything anyone said.

He sat on his throne now, twirling a pen as he listened to a rather heated conversation between Sam and Clara in their room.

"I know I should have told you, but I didn't have any choice!" Clara was desperately trying to explain herself.

"I'm not mad because you didn't tell me!" Sam exclaimed. "I'm mad because every time I turn around, you've somehow managed to put yourself into danger – on purpose! You don't always have to be a hero!"

"Don't," Clara said lowly. "Don't you dare call me a hero. I'm not a hero, or a saint, or a martyr, and I don't want to be remembered as one. If I can save one person, just one person, then you're damn right it's going to be you. It always going to be you."

"Stop talking like you're already dead!" Sam shouted. There was a panicked, desperate tone behind his anger. "Look at me – I would do _anything_ to save you, Clara. _Anything_. But now that I'm . . ." he took a deep breath.

"Now that you need help," Clara finished gently. "Let me help."

"How can I protect you if I'm not even here?" Sam asked quietly.

"I don't need protection. Not anymore. You heard Rowena – there are only a few things that can resist the power I have now. I sent Rowena away without lifting a finger – I'll be okay."

"You know what this means?" Sam said. His anger was gone, replaced with something else, something that made Crowley frown and his brow furrow – was that _hope_? Excitement?

"You can get out of the deal," Sam said quickly. "Clara – you can _order_ Crowley to destroy the contract. You can keep your soul from going to Hell."

Crowley had heard enough. He stood, ending the spell. He tapped the pen on the table, thinking. Sneaky little moose. But he was right – if she wanted, Clara could order him to dissipate any contract he held. And that made him very nervous, and very angry.

Crowley _wanted_ that soul.

"Sir," a demon piped up nervously from where he stood with the others in the room. He hesitated – his King was being uncharacteristically quiet and calm about an obviously dangerous situation. He swallowed and continued. "Your highness, the others and I were talking. Perhaps if you made an arrangement with the Darkness –"

He never got to finish the sentence. Crowley turned and flung the pen so hard that it slammed into the demons jugular. The demon choked on his vessel's blood, and Crowley glared angrily before killing him with a quick snap of his fingers.

Crowley turned, returning and sitting on his throne. "Anyone else have any bright ideas?" he asked.

No one said a word.

"Good," Crowley said. "One of you make a reservation at La Grenouille."

One of his demons frowned. "Sir?"

"For two," Crowley continued, standing. "I think I'll have a chat with Miss Oswald."

* * *

Dean whistled lowly from where he sat on the couch, reading the news with Petra leaning against his legs as she typed away at her laptop. She looked up when Dean whistled, smiling and sliding her glasses off. "You look very pretty, Clara," she acknowledged.

Clara, who had just entered, did indeed look nice. She wore a dark green wrap dress and was pulling on a long gray coat. She had curled her hair and looked very pretty.

"Where ya headed all dressed up?" Dean asked.

"Actually, Crowley invited me to dinner at a nice restaurant in town," she replied, pulling her hair out from under the scarf.

Dean took a moment to process this. "Sorry. I must be having a stroke, cause I coulda swore you just said you were having dinner with Crowley."

Clara rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Sam know about this?" Dean demanded.

"As a matter of fact, it was Sam's idea for me to talk to him," Clara said, and Dean suddenly understood. Sam had spared him the details, but Dean wasn't an idiot – he knew the look of someone who had given up something important. And he had a real good idea what that was.

He'd sold his soul, before, too, after all.

"You be careful," he began shooting orders out. "Take a gun, and some holy water. Make sure you remember all the words to the exorcisms and –"

"Dean." Clara held up her hand, the ring catching the light.

Dean gave a sign of relief. "Yeah, right. Sorry, I just forgot is all. And Crowley is an untrustworthy ass."

Clara shook her head, heading outside, where a cab was waiting.

The restaurant was very nice, she had to admit – it had been a while since she'd had anything other than takeout or whatever she could find in the cabinets.

Crowley had reserved a great table, towards the corner of the restaurant. The lighting was low and music played quietly, providing a warm, gentle atmosphere.

Crowley stood to greet her, pulling out her chair for her. "You look lovely," he told her, sitting across from her.

"Thank you," she said politely. Wine was poured, and she took a sip. It was delicious, and she knew it must have cost a fortune, so she sipped at it sparingly.

She let Crowley order for them, and unfolded a napkin on her lap. Crowley steepled his fingers together, watching her over them for several long moments.

"Do I frighten you, Miss Oswald?" he finally asked.

She took another sip of wine. "Frighten me? No," she admitted. She leaned back, studying him. "You're intimidating. You're very powerful and I often believe you know more than you let on. But there's only one man in the entire universe who frightens me. And you're not him. Sorry."

"I see. I assume you know why I asked you to meet me here, then?" he narrowed his eyes. One snap of his fingers and that'd be it. That's all it would take . . . but he'd wait. For now.

"Because I'm such good company?" Clara suggested. She smiled. "I know why I'm here. You want to talk about my jewelry."

He must have hesitated, because Clara laid her hand on the table. "It's a bit much, isn't it?" she asked, glancing at the ring. "It's not very nice to look at it. When I first put it on it was warm. But now it stays cold. It's very heavy. I hate it." She folded her hands together. "But I won't be taking it off. For anyone or any reason."

"Then I suppose you'll be asking me to terminate our deal?" He pressed his fingers together lightly under the table. Any moment and he'd have to strike first.

Clara took a sip of wine. "No."

Crowley blinked, frowning and narrowing his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not canceling the deal," she elaborated, putting her glass down. "I won't lie to you, I thought about it. It's the reason Sam asked me to talk to you. He begged me. But I made a deal, and I won't go back on it now just because I can. What sort of person would that make me?"

Crowley didn't understand. A beautiful young woman was sitting in front of him, her entire life potentially in front of her should she say just a few short words. And yet, despite her power, she was more concerned with her own integrity? She wasn't letting her power take her over. She was working with it.

"You would make an excellent Queen of Hell," he finally said.

Clara laughed. "I'll take it as a compliment."

"Or an offer," Crowley replied, taking a sip of his own wine.

Clara smiled. "I appreciate the proposal. But I don't really care for the heat." She leaned back, examining him. "The Doctor once told me I see the best in everyone. That it's what makes me special. I don't know if it's true, but I can say this for you, Crowley – I have not ever met a person who is truly and completely evil. Everyone has something in them that's worth everything to someone. I don't know much about politics, but I think you're doing a fine job running Hell."

"Ah, well," he said, flattered and a little embarrassed. "The offer will continue to stand should you ever tire of the Moose. I hope you like truffle."

* * *

Sam looked around for a moment, making sure he was alone and blocking Lucifer from his mind for as long as he could. He leaned against a tree behind the Bunker, and took a deep breath.

"I, uh," he started, and cleared his throat. "I get that probably you're not listening, but . . . maybe it's having all this evil inside me right now, or being scared for Clara and the others . . . or maybe I'm just going crazy . . ." he took a deep breath. "But, I need help." He looked up at the sky. The stars were hidden behind heavy dark clouds - the wind was still and the night smelled heavily of an earthy dampness that hinted at rain. " _We_ need help."

Twigs snapped behind him, and Sam looked over his shoulder. He pursed his lips and gave a nod as his brother approached.

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing up at the sky. They were silent for several long moments.

"Cas heard you," Dean finally said. He didn't sound judgmental or even annoyed. Just stating a fact.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I was trying to keep it quiet. I just . . . didn't know what else to do, I guess."

They were quiet for another few moments.

"If anything happens to me -" Sam started.

"Don't," Dean said lowly.

"Shut up and listen for a minute," Sam said. He took a breath. "If anything happens to me, make sure nothing happens to Clara. Keep her safe, don't let her do anything crazy or heroic."

Dean didn't say anything, or even look at his brother. He gave a short nod.

"And then," Sam continued. "Don't try and bring me back, Dean."

Now Dean looked at him, glowering angrily. Sam continued before he said anything.

"We can't keep doing this, Dean," he said. "Eventually we're both going to have to stay dead. So the next time my time comes, just leave it. Alright?"

Dean stared at his brother - his baby brother, who he raised. He taught him to walk, to talk, to read and to hunt. He watched him grow up and he watched him die. It was always Sam and Dean against the world. He'd let go of his brother once and Sam came back missing parts of himself. Damned if Dean ever went through that again.

"Dean," Sam said again. "Promise me."

Dean took a deep breath. "No." He patted Sam's shoulder and walked back to the Bunker.

Sam looked back to the sky in distress. One day his brother would have to learn to live without him. And that day might be coming sooner rather than later.


	47. Chapter 47

"I've told you before, Doctor. I can't change fate. It's set in stone."

Ashildr, as the Doctor insisted on continuing to call her, did feel sympathy for the Doctor of course – she wasn't heartless, and she quite liked Clara. But there wasn't a thing she could do.

The Doctor felt differently. "You can try," he demanded. "You have to try."

They stood inside a station orbiting Delta-6-13, a small planet that had been abandoned for years. Ashildr and the Doctor stood in front of a large window, watching as the sun expanded and began to swallow D613. The Doctor was reminded of the last time he watched something like this, a very long time ago for him, and pushed it from his mind. Right now, he had to focus on saving Clara.

"Clara's fate has been severely altered already," Ashildr continued. "Especially since I've warned you of her demise. She will never come to the alley, and she will never die there. Unfortunately any soul past, present, future, or alternate paths that has been promised to the raven is set in stone. Clara will die, very soon, and she'll have to face the raven. And from what I've heard, the raven will be guiding her somewhere very bad."

"She sold her soul to a demon," the Doctor confirmed quietly.

"That's a shame," Ashildr replied. "I'm afraid that's a lot of suffering for one soul. Between the energy the raven will absorb from her soul, by the time she reaches Hell she'll already be very weak."

"She isn't going to Hell and she isn't going to die," the Doctor said firmly, finally looking at her. "I'll find a way. Somehow, somewhere, there will be a way."

Ashildr gave a small smile. "I hope you find it, Doctor," she told him. "I really do." She turned and left.

The Doctor glanced back the D613. This planet had once been alive. Alive with laughter and love and loss and life. And now, empty and dead, it disappeared from the world in a fleeting moment.

Clara would not be D613. That he swore.

* * *

Dean leaned back, admiring his handiwork as he finished wrapping Petra's cast with cling wrap. She glared at it disdainfully as Dean grinned.

"I'm an artist," he insisted.

"Having my entire arm coated in cling film just to take a shower is the most annoying thing I've ever dealt with, and I've been around Missy." She sighed, standing.

"Just a few more days and it comes off," Dean reassured her, helping her out of her clothes and turning the shower on for her. He turned around, playing with a strand of her hair and kissing her nose. There was a spot of freckles that dusted the very tip that he loved.

"I genuinely cannot wait," Petra replied honestly. She turned to step into the shower.

"Hey," Dean called as he glanced at himself in the mirror – dark circles under the eyes, in desperate need of a haircut – yep, he sure felt like a winner. "Do you want to go have dinner with me Saturday night?"

Petra poked her head out of the shower curtain, hair soaked and squinting without her glasses. "Are you asking me on a date?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Yeah," Dean said, scratching the back of his head. "I was thinking about it and realized I've never really done any, you know. Relationship kinda stuff with you. So yeah, I wanna take you on a date."

Petra looked touched, smiling. "Okay, then. I'd love to go on a date with you."

She returned to her shower, and Dean made sure she didn't see him grinning.

Petra's phone began to vibrate and ring from the bed, and Dean glanced at it. "Hey, your phone is ringing."

"Would you answer it?" she called. "Make sure Missy hasn't blown anything up."

Dean grabbed the phone, glancing at the number but not recognizing it. Frowning, he shrugged and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hello?" A puzzled woman's voice answered. "Petronella?"

"Uh, no, she's busy," Dean said, glancing at the bathroom.

"Well, who is this?" the voice demanded. "Why are you answering Petronella's phone? Where is she?"

"Dean," he said stupidly, not knowing what else to say. "And uh, Petra is in the shower. Do you want to leave a message, or . . .?"

"No, I do not want to 'leave a message'!" the voice snapped angrily, and Dean grimaced. He hated when women yelled. It was scarier than anything else he had to face. "I want to talk to my sister!" When Dean hesitated, she snapped "Now!"

Dean headed into the bathroom. "Hey, uh, your sister wants to talk to you."

The water turned off and Petra opened the shower curtain. Dean only got to admire her body for a moment before she wrapped herself in a robe and pulled a towel onto her head. She frowned, glancing at the phone. "Bonnie?"

"I don't think so," Dean said.

Her eyes had a "ohdeargodno" sorta look to them as she snatched the phone, pressing it to her ear. "Marie," she breathed. "Hi."

Dean grimaced and pointed at the door, mouthing "I'll be back." Petra waved, and Dean quietly left the room, glancing around the dark hallway. It was late, and everyone was no doubt sleeping – tensions were running way too high in the bunker, especially between Clara and Sam – and, well, himself and Sam.

Dean found himself in the main room, where his brother was leaning on one hand, pouring over a book – surely that was Sam.

"You sure you shouldn't be getting some sleep?" Dean asked as he came up the steps.

"Not Sam. And I don't sleep." He lifted the book. "But look at this."

Dean frowned, too distracted by the ancient book being held up to be anymore bothered than usual by Lucifer's presence in his brother. He joined Lucifer, squinting in the dim lighting at the odd-looking language and rough sketches.

"What is that, Enochian?" Dean asked, frown deepening.

"The oldest kind," Lucifer agreed, also frowning. "I'm not even sure Cas would be able to read this – that's how old it is."

"What is that thing?" Dean asked, heading for the liquor cabinet, then reconsidering and grabbing a bottled water from the cooler instead.

"It's the journal they found with the Ring of Solomon. I thought Rowena ran off with it but I found it under a shelf – it must have slid under there when they scuffled." He leaned back, much more casual than Sam would ever be.

"Say anything worth knowing?" Dean wondered aloud, taking a moment to linger on the fact that he was having a civil conversation with Satan before remembering they were all mostly-kinda on the same side.

"Not a whole lot," Lucifer replied. "More of the same crap, basically – can't have control of the ring unless the former wearer is killed, control of demons, etc. etc . . . but there might be something useful. Basically it says here that any supernatural being can be controlled – even beyond death."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean frowned, crossing his arms.

"Potentially the wearer can order people to come back to life," Lucifer finished with a shrug.

"People?" Dean asked. "People, like people? Or people like –?"

"People like me, idiot," Lucifer said. "Angels, demons, witches, blah blah."

"How?" Dean demanded.

"A spell. A _big_ spell. Lotta power, hard to get ingredients – we'd definitely need a witch."

"Of course we would," Dean muttered. He paused. "This spell, would it be enough to bring Michael out of the Cage?"

Lucifer looked annoyed. "What's that matter?"

"Well, in case you didn't notice, we're at war here and we're losing," Dean glared.

"Mikey is fine in the Cage," Lucifer insisted.

"Look, I don't have time for you arc-angel grudge match bullcrap," Dean said. "Okay? None of us do."

"If you want to bring Michael back, he's gonna need a vessel to come back to," Lucifer pointed out. "Ready to share your personal space, Dean? Your room, your alcohol, your girlfriend . . ."

"If Sam can do it, so can I!" Dean snapped.

"Sorry, I forgot that I'm arguing with a three year old," Lucifer rolled his eyes. "The only reason Sam is still alive right now is – shut up, Sam – is because he's willingly allowing me to use him as a vessel. He has no resistance what so ever. If Michael had to deal with your constant, well, bullheadedness, you're gonna disappear real fast."

"Then we'll find him another vessel," Dean snapped.

"There have only been two other vessels strong enough to hold Mikey, and they were both Winchesters. So unless you've got any other secret siblings, there's no way."

"He only needs a temporary vessel, right?" Dean asked after a moment. "Someone strong enough to hold him for a while, like Nick did with you?"

"Where are you going with this?" Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "We don't have time to find and convince someone –"

"When Ruby needed a body she used a coma patient," Dean cut him off. "Totally brain dead. So what if we found someone like that for Michael?"

"First of all, they'd have to be one hell of a person," Lucifer replied. "Second, angels have to have consent, remember?"

"So you get it," Dean said. "You're an angel. If a person is brain dead, that means they're already dead. So you go to heaven and you get their consent."

Lucifer looked reluctant. "I guess it could work," he said slowly. Then he looked smug. "But unfortunately we don't have time to run all over the world looking for a coma patient who would be good enough for my brother."

"Then it's a good thing we've got a time machine," Dean retorted, and Lucifer wondered briefly if killing him would be worth it.

Dean nodded. "Get Gabriel to work on translating that," he said, tapping the book. "Cas and I will track down Rowena. You, Clara, and the Doc can go looking for our vessel."

"Hell must be freezing over, I'm taking orders from a Winchester," Lucifer muttered, shutting his book and going to find his partners.


	48. Chapter 48

Clara loved to watch Sam as he wondered around the TARDIS.

His face was always in a state of constant, subtle awe at the various controls on the console, multiple hallways, and books of all ages lining the shelves. He and the Doctor had very similar taste when it came to books. Sam was engrossed in the titles, and every time he found an autograph or a note from the author addressed to the Doctor, his eyes would widen slightly or he'd shake his head in amazement.

Clara smiled and turned back towards the console, where the Doctor was examining something on a screen.

"He's very quiet," the Doctor remarked without looking away from the screen. "I'm not used to quiet."

"It's the books," Clara smiled, glancing back at Sam for a moment. "They're his weakness."

"Not his only one, I take it," the Doctor replied. Before Clara could reply, he finally took the time to look at her. "Do you really think bringing another arc angel into the mix is a good idea?"

"Dean does," Clara replied. "And I trust him."

"I don't. Too many guns." He shook his head, pulling a lever, and the TARDIS lurched and wheezed. "We're here."

Sam put his book down, striding down the stairs to join Clara as she opened the door. She looked around – it was a busy street, with a large hospital lurking overhead. She immediately recognized where she was.

"London?" she asked, glancing at the Doctor.

"St. George's," the Doctor confirmed, joining them. "Eighth largest hospital in the world. River and I will be across the world looking into another hospital. We'll be back in three hours, give or take."

"Doctor, Winston's on the phone for you!" River called from inside the TARDIS.

"Right. Make it five hours. Behave," the Doctor ordered before retreating into the TARDIS.

Sam watched as the TARDIS faded away, shaking his head. "I'll never get used to that."

"You really won't," Clara smiled. She took his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, he squeezed it gently.

"You're still mad at me," Clara sighed heavily.

"I'm not mad," Sam told her, turning to face her. He took her other hand, taking a deep breath. "I just . . . I'm just worried. And not just for you," he added quickly before she got defensive. "For – well, for everything. Between the Darkness and Lucifer and now, somehow we're supposed to convince Rowena to help us . . ."

"You're really cute when you worry," Clara said after a moment. "Your eyes scrunch up and run your hands through your hair. It's very distracting."

Sam broke and smiled, rolling his eyes before leaning down to press his lips against hers for a moment. "Let's find a coma patient."

"How romantic," Clara grinned as they cross they crossed the street.

To anyone else, the pair was a bit intimidating (or Sam was, at least). Sam was wearing his best 'I'm-totally-an-FBI-agent' suit, and Clara had searched through the TARDIS until she found a simple pantsuit for herself as well. They made their way to the busy front counter, where a frazzled looked woman glanced up at them.

"Can I help you?" she frowned.

"Officer Davison, Scotland Yard," Clara introduced herself, holding up the physic paper.

"Agent McCoy, FBI," Sam added, holding his badge up.

The nurse narrowed her eyes. "What business does Scotland Yard and the FBI have here?"

"We're looking for a John Doe," Clara clarified smoothly. "We have reason to believe they may be a coma patient here."

"They're someone the FBI has been tracking for a while," Sam added.

The phone rang, and the nurse sighed. "Look, I'm swamped here – the long-term care ward is located in the north wing. Ask one of the nurses there."

Sam and Clara nodded, and started upstairs. The elevator arrived, and they stepped in.

"Do you think we have something here?" Sam asked.

"No clue," Clara admitted. "Has Lucifer, um, said anything?"

Sam shook his head. "No, he's being uncharacteristically quiet."

That worried Clara, but she didn't admit that to him. Swallowing, she stepped out of the elevator and into the long term care ward. She spoke to the woman at the desk for a moment before returning to Sam.

"The John Doe's are on the third floor," she told him. "Let's take a look around."

They reached the third floor and found several halls full of unidentified coma patients. Clara spoke to a nurse and found that if the patients weren't identified or claimed within a certain amount of time, they would eventually be taken off life support. Clara felt overwhelmingly sad for these people – or, more so for their families, who had no idea where their relatives were, or if they were okay.

She should really visit her gran.

Sam and Clara visited thirteen patients before Lucifer decided to make his voice heard. They were in the room, with three coma patients – an average looking man in his forties, a well-built man in his thirties, and a woman with dark brown hair.

Sam glanced at their charts. "The first one is approximately forty-three years old. He's been here for six months. Says here his state is drug related. An overdose."

"Roughly thirty-six, suspected military from his tattoos," Clara read from the third patient. "Wounded during the Christmas Invasion . . ."

"Invasion?" Sam frowned.

"It's a long story. And this one is a Jane Doe. Thirty-two. No tattoos, scars, or identification that could help identify her. She was hit by a car almost a year ago."

Sam took a step back, laying his hand on his head and squeezing his eyes closed as though in pain.

"Sam," Clara said, taking his arm, trying not to show how scared she was. "Sam, are you okay?"

"This is the room," Sam ground out. "Lucifer says they're in here."

"I knew it," Clara breathed. "It's him, isn't it? The one who was hurt in the invasion? I had a feeling . . ."

Sam's eyes flashed and Clara took a step back. "It's not him," Lucifer said, walking past Clara. "It's her."

Clara frowned, joining him beside the female coma patient. "There's not any information on her," she remarked.

"Her name is Grace," Lucifer replied. "Grace Kelley. She was a paralegal from York. Her parents were both big in the Catholic church."

"She hasn't got any family?" Clara asked.

"Her parents died in a plane crash on a missionary trip to South Africa," Lucifer continued. "She was never married and was looking for a job when she died. Her friends reported her missing but no one ever came looking for her."

"Poor thing," Clara murmured.

"Not really," Lucifer shrugged. "If I recall correctly, she's very happy in her personal heaven. Christmas with her parents. They got her a new briefcase."

"You remember everyone's heavens?" Clara asked, tilting her head.

"I _see_ everyone's heavens," Lucifer replied. "I'll have to go talk with her. Stay here."

He disappeared, starling Clara – after all, how often does your boyfriend disappear mid conversation? Instead, she took out her phone, starting to dial Dean before, when happening to glance out the window, she caught sight of a familiar blue box.

She frowned. The Doctor said he'd be back in five hours – but it'd hardly been an hour and the TARDIS was back.

She made her way downstairs, trusting Lucifer to be able to find her when he returned. She started towards the TARDIS, unable to shake off the feeling that something was different.

"Why wouldn't he park her in the same place?" she wondered aloud as she reached the box. She pulled on the door, frowning again when they didn't open. "It's locked . . ." She began to search her pockets for her key, but stopped when she saw someone familiar walking.

She moved away from the TARDIS, listening as the strangers approached.

" . . . whenever he gets back from whatever it is he does. We're supposed to be looking for her, I don't know what a few years into the future is going to accomplish," the woman was saying. Clara recognized her, too – she'd seen her once before, in a past – or future? – life, and then once again, when the TARDIS was taking Clara on a tour of ghosts of companions past. Red hair, Scottish – _the first face this face saw_. Amelia.

The boy beside her, Clara definitely recognized. _First boy I ever fancied was called Rory_ _._ The nose. Clara couldn't remember everything, but she caught snippets.

"Rory," she said aloud, unable to stop herself. He turned, looking at her, brow furrowing.

"Yes?" he asked, frowning.

"And Amelia," Clara said, realizing what was happening. "You're Amy Pond."

Amy looked nervous. "Sorry, have we met?"

"No," Clara said quickly. "No, we haven't, but I – I've heard a lot about you."

"Amy! Rory!" Clara's heart almost stopped beating when she heard that voice. She swallowed, turning slowly, as though in a fog, to see him coming towards her.

He looked the way he did the first time she met him – well, minus the monk robes, of course. Young, bouncy, signature bowtie around his neck and tweed jacket. He was smiling that big, goofy grin he got when he was excited or scared or sometimes even angry. He joined them, looking from the Ponds and to Clara. "Hullo," he greeted her.

Clara covered her mouth with her hand, feeling her eyes growing wet. "H-hi."

"Amy, Rory, I've got some records from the very grouchy receptionist," the Doctor told his companions. "No sign of Melody, but there's a very angry car thief upstairs who was shot by her."

"That's a lead, though!" Amy said in excitement, grasping Rory's hand.

The Doctor turned back to Clara, looking at her oddly – Clara recognized that face. He knew something was odd about her. He could feel it. He stepped closer to her, squinting and examining her. Clara took in everything she could about him – her Doctor. The man she met and needed without even knowing it. The man who'd jumped into his own timeline to save her. The man who would become her best friend. They'd been through so much together. And yet here he stood, the same man her Doctor was, but also a man who was long dead.

He had a very small, knowing smile, and his eyes were dancing with curiosity.

"We've met," he said quietly. It wasn't a question, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

"Not yet," Clara smiled back. She hesitated, reaching her hand out and laying it on his cheek. He let her. He didn't look at her oddly or flinch away. He could tell she needed to feel it, confirm it – he was the Doctor and he was there.

She dropped her hand, her eyes growing wetter, and she blinked rapidly.

She hesitated again, before stepping forward swiftly and wrapping her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her. After a split second, he hugged her back.

"What's this for?" he asked quietly against her hair.

Clara pulled away, hands lingering on his arms. "For being a hugger."

She smiled and stepped back. The Doctor gave a little bow and waved. "I'll see you again," he told her.

Clara laughed. "I can't wait," she promised.

The Doctor smiled and turned. "Come along, Ponds!"

Confused, Rory followed him into the TARDIS. Amy, however, lingered, glancing at Clara before rushing towards her.

"You know me," Amy said, looking confused and anxious and hopeful. "You're from the future?"

"I am," Clara confirmed.

"Do I – do I find her?" Amy asked in a rush. "My daughter, my Melody – do I find her?" Her eyes were desperate, and Clara knew she couldn't give her an outright answer. Not technically.

Instead, Clara smiled. She leaned forward towards Amy. "Spoilers," she said quietly, her eyes connecting with Amy's, who instantly started to tear up. It was as obvious an answer as saying "Yes, of course" might have been, and without breaking any rules.

She gave a cry between a gasp and a laugh, covering her mouth and trying to keep her tears from overflowing. "Thank you," she whispered.

Clara's smiled widened as Amy returned to the TARDIS. The door slammed shut and then the box wheezed and groaned as it faded away.

"Clara?"

She turned, finding Sam strolling towards her. He frowned. "Hey, you alright?" he asked, gathering her against him.

"Yeah," Clara said, wiping a tear away and smiling brightly. "Just – just saying hello to an old friend, is all." She sniffed. "Did Lucifer talk to Grace?"

"Yeah, he did. And she agreed." Sam stroked her hair as she pulled away, feeling as though, for once, things were working out.

"Dean and Cas are about to confront Rowena now," Sam said nervously. "Should we wait here for the Doctor?"

Clara glanced at her watch. "No," she replied. "I have a better idea."


	49. Chapter 49

**Very excited to show you all the direction this is headed in. I've already started planing the second part of this story (which will sort of parallel themes from season 12, with some things changed - you'll see ;) ) Do you guys want the second installment in a separate story file, or should I just continue part two here? It's up to you, the people! Please review and share and all that good stuff! Allons-y!**

* * *

Clara stepped out of the cab, Sam following, and paid the driver. She turned and glanced up at the small flat in front of her, smiling fondly as memories of childhood danced through her head - memories she was now able to share with the man she loved. She turned and looked at Sam. "Come on," she said excitedly, pulling on his hand. She stepped up onto the stoop and turned the knob, opening the door and entering, breathing in the sweet scent of tea and biscuits. Sam followed, frowning and looking around.

The house was cozy, with lots of floral patterns and comfortable décor. Pictures were hanging on the wall, and Sam smiled at one of a young Clara, grinning widely, revealing a missing front tooth. A few other photos dotted the wall, mostly featuring Clara as she grew. There were also photos of Clara's parents and relatives.

Clara pulled the door shut behind her. "Hello?" she called, shedding her jacket and tossing it over a comfy looking chair. "Anyone home? I saw Dad's car outside."

"Clara?!" a middle aged man rounded the corner, and despite his thinning hair and heavyset belly, he was obviously Clara's father, - they had an identical nose, and a similar kind face. He looked both shocked and pleased. "I didn't know you were home, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a hug.

"Just doing some work in the area, thought I'd pop by," Clara smiled, hugging him back.

"Dave, who is it?" called an elderly voice from the kitchen.

"It's Clara!" Dave Oswald called back.

"Who?"

"Clara!" Dave called louder.

"Will she be staying for dinner?"

"I don't know, Mum, she just got here!"

"Well ask her if she's hungry!"

"I'll go see her," Clara grinned, then paused. "By the way, Dad – this is Sam. Play nice."

"Uh, Clara –?" Sam started, but she was already on her way to the kitchen.

Sam looked back to Dave nervously. The man was looking him over with narrowed eyes. Put a vampire, or a wendigo, or a demon or angel or Satan or what have you in front of Sam, and he was Mr. Cool. But being left alone with his girlfriend's father? There was only one thing as scary as that.

Sam _really_ hoped Mr. Oswald wasn't a clown.

"So," Dave started coolly. "You're American."

"Uh, yeah," Sam nodded. "Kansas. I'm from Kansas, I mean."

"And you . . .?" Dave raised his eyebrows. "What, do you travel with the Doctor and my daughter?"

"Oh. Well, no, not exactly . . ."

"Hmm. Have you got a job, Sam?"

Sam blinked. "I, um . . . yeah, sure. I, uh, I'm a . . ."

 _Streetcleaner!_ Shouted that annoying voice Sam was too damn used to.

 _No, shut up._ Sam mentally rolled his eyes.

 _Garbage man,_ Lucifer suggested.

 _Stop._

 _Synchronized swimmer. Ooh, lumberjack!_

"He's a monster hunter, Dad!" Clara called from in the kitchen.

"He could have told me that," Dave called back, before looking back at Sam.

"Sorry," Sam said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I forgot that Clara's family is – well, used to the crazy, I guess."

"Yes, so do I," Dave muttered. "Beer?"

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Clara was leaning against the counter as her Gran boiled some water for tea.

"Is that the handsome monster hunter in there?" she whispered to Clara.

"That's the one," Clara confirmed.

"And is he still . . . you know?" She made some circles with her finger next to her head.

Clara rolled her eyes and chuckled. "He's not crazy, Gran, he's just going through some things."

"Yes, it sounds like," her Gran chuckled, placing some cups on a tray and pouring the tea.

"Here, let me get that," Clara murmured, picking up the tray and walking into the living room.

Sam and Dave were sipping on beer and making awkward conversation; Sam looked relieved when the women entered the room, and sat down beside Clara on the sofa.

Clara immediately dove into a vague, safe-for-work version of what had been happening the past few months. She held Sam's hand, fingers intertwined, and he tried to concentrate on her, on her touch and her voice, instead of Lucifer.

"Look, I get it, you can't wait to get rid of me," Lucifer said, now appearing in person and leaning against the wall. "I'm bored with you, too, sunshine. But maybe you could loathe me a _little_ quieter?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Lucifer smirked. "What's wrong, Sam? Getting tired?" He approached, sitting on the coffee table. "How about letting me have a turn? C'mon, you've been conscious way more than I have today. That's not good for you, big guy."

Clara squeezed his hand, pulling Sam back to the present. Clara's nan and Dave were having a light argument about aliens, and Clara leaned against Sam.

"Tell Lucifer if he can't behave, he'll have to deal with me," she whispered.

"How'd you know?" Sam asked.

"I always know."

Sam smiled and squeezed her hand. "I love you."

Clara grinned. "You better." She suddenly frowned though, eyes widening slightly, and Sam immediately felt concerned – what was wrong? Then he realized himself, though, that he could smell something like hot iron, and felt a sticky warmth leaking from his left nostril. He quickly raised his hand to cover his nose, standing.

"C-can I use your restroom?" he coughed.

"Upstairs, dear," Clara's nan said, gesturing. "On your right."

"Thanks." He moved across the room as quickly as he could without making a scene.

"I'll be right back," Clara added, standing and following as swiftly as she could, taking the stairs two at a time. She could hear Sam coughing and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Let me in," she said quietly. "Sam, please," she said after a few moments.

The door unlocked, and Clara entered, closing the door behind her. She grabbed a towel, handing it to Sam, who held it to his face. His nosebleed was slowing, but every time he coughed, a few speckles of blood would fly from his mouth.

"Sit," Clara said, pushing him onto the side of the tub.

"I'm fine, just need a minute," he tried. His vision was blurring a bit, and he blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his head. This was the longest he'd been conscious in a few days.

"Sam," Clara said, leaning in front of him and taking his hands. "Look at me. If you two need to switch, it's okay."

"No," Sam said firmly. "No, your father and grandmother don't know. I don't want them to know."

"Hey, I can totally be you," Lucifer said, examining his pores in the mirror. "Watch." He cleared his throat and pulled an angst-filled face, lowering his voice. "Hey, Dean, so get this. I'm a man in his thirties with the hair of a man in his teens. All my girlfriends are dead! It's not a phase, Dad!" He grinned. "It's good, right?"

" _I'll_ deal with Lucifer," Clara continued. "We'll stay for a few minutes, make up and excuse, and dash."

Sam shook his head, stomach sick. His throat felt raw and sore, as though he hadn't had anything to drink in days, and he realized why with a shudder.

"Sam," Clara said gently.

Sam hesitated, but nodded. He frowned at the towel in his hand. "I ruined your Nan's towel."

"My stepmother gave her those, Nan hates those towels," Clara promised, kissing his forehead. Clara stepped back as his eyes flashed, and Lucifer stretched.

"You know I feel _physically_ crowded in there?" Lucifer said, standing. Somehow, he always seemed to taller, as though his presence made him tower over others.

"Behave," Clara warned him, wagging her finger at him. "I mean it."

"Oh, shut up and go drink your gramma's tea," Lucifer waved a hand.

Clara huffed, tossing the towel in the trash and yanking the door open, leading Lucifer downstairs.

"Everything alright?" Dave frowned as they reentered the room.

"Peachy," Lucifer said, plopping down on the couch. "Right, honey?" He tossed his arm around Clara as she sat down beside him, and she hid a grimace.

"So, Sam," Dave started.

 _Please, no,_ Clara thought. _Not this. Please, Dad._

"Are you and my daughter serious?" he continued.

"Dave, you stop that," Clara's Nan said.

"Well, Dave," Lucifer said, crossing his legs. Clara mentally face palmed. "Y'know, _I_ think we are. See, when I first met Clara, we just really bonded. She really opened up to me, totally just poured her _soul_ out to me."

"That's an interesting ring, dear," Clara's Nan said, glancing at the seal on Clara's hand. "Did Sam give you that?"

"Sure did," Lucifer said immediately, squeezing Clara's shoulders. She glared daggers at him. "Just a little token of my undying love. Cost a fortune, too. But anything for my other half, the love of my life –"

"Reel it in," Clara coughed, elbowing him in the ribs. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms, sinking back into the couch and hoping that Dean was having better luck.

* * *

Dean was not having better luck.

As it happened, he'd just be thrown through the window – thankfully on the first floor – of what he had _thought_ was a mostly abandoned warehouse. He groaned, rolling over, glass crunching under him. He took a moment to catch his breath.

Petra appeared over him, leaning down, her freckled face close to his. "No offense to you, but this isn't how I saw our first real date going," she said.

"What, you're not having a good time?" he grunted, pushing himself up. "Christ. The hell did you say those things are called again?"

"Cybermen," Petra said, stepping back as Dean brushed the glass off of him. Petra glanced at the warehouse. "Missy does love to use them – she must have reprogrammed these to take orders from her. Brilliant, really. Cybermen are incredibly complex. It would take a complete overdrive which would take weeks or longer if only to scrub clean the database –"

"How do I kill 'em?"

"Well, that's a bit more difficult. Regular bullets may slow them down but to shut them down it would have to be an extremely accurate shot directly to their brain, which is very well protected. The other area of weakness would be the mainframe."

"Which is where?"

"Middle of the chest. Usually."

"Usually?" Dean didn't like the sound of that. "Any other way of killing them?"

"Gold. Melting their circuits. I heard rumors of a steamroller but that was never confirmed."

" _Delete, Delete,_ " came the daunting mechanic tones inside the building.

"How many are in there?" Dean asked, squinting at the building.

Petra lifted her tablet, scanning the building for a moment. "Six," she reported. "Three on the bottom floor, two on the second, and one on the top. That will be the leader."

"Awesome," Dean huffed. "There's an extra shotgun and a flamethrower gun in the trunk of the Impala."

"I'm on it," Petra said, rushing away towards the car.

"Easy on the hand!" he called after her, sighing when she ignored him. Petra had only got her cast off the day before, and she had no intentions of taking the doctor's advice to 'take it easy.' Dean had been trying to give her a nice night, taking her to dinner and a midnight screening of _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , but of course Jack had called to report a Missy sighting in their area. Dean had entered the warehouse to investigate, only to be tossed out the window by a large, metallic guy moments later.

 _Ain't no rest for the wicked,_ he thought.

"Here we are," Petra said as she returned. Dean loaded the shotguns and handed one to Petra.

"That oughta leave a decent sized hole in anything it hits," he told her. "Remember what I taught you?"

Petra cocked the shotgun in response.

Dean grinned. "I love you."

He slung his own shotgun over his shoulder, lifted the flamethrower, and started into the building. Petra frowned and followed.

"How come I don't get the flamethrower, then?" she asked, nodding at the gun.

"I think you've played with enough fire," Dean told her.

" _Delete! Delete!_ "

Dean turned to his right, raising his shotgun and firing in one fluid movement. The shotgun shell blasted through the middle of the Cyberman, toppling it a few steps backward. Dean emptied two more shots into it, and sparks flew as the light died from the Cyberman and it collapsed to the floor in a heap of metal.

 _"You will be deleted."_

"Man, these things really like the sound of their own voices, huh?" Dean asked, back to back with Petra. "What a bunch of asshats!"

"Cybermen don't possess emotions, I don't think they care what you think of them, dear," Petra replied, firing her own shotgun and fumbling to cock it again before firing another round, trying her best to ignore the sharp thud of the recoil against her shoulder. She could feel the wave of heat coming off the flamethrower as Dean switched his shotgun out for it. There was a loud, roaring blast of fire for several long moments as Petra fired off one more round, taking the Cyberman down. She turned as Dean released the trigger of the flamethrower, and the flames disappeared. The Cyberman Dean had been attacking looked down at the massive, melted hole in its chest for a moment before powering down, joining its comrades on the floor.

"I take it back," Petra breathed, shaking some hair that had come loose from her ponytail away from her face. "This is a _fantastic_ first date. My adrenaline is through the roof! I feel – I feel so alive."

"Glad you're having fun," Dean grunted, taking a moment to catch his breath. Petra took a puff of her inhaler before leading on, delivering a swift, teasing slap to Dean's rear. He jumped, startled at his girlfriend's ambition, and followed with an amused grin.

"I wonder if River would let me have one of those Alpha Meson blasters," Petra was saying, and Dean's grin changed to a grimace as he imagined the clumsy scientist with a high-powered compact laser.

 _Note to self – have a serious talk with Song as soon as you get back,_ he told himself. Though he had to admit – those blasters were freakin' cool.

The two Cybermen on the second floor was slightly tougher, but still no match for a flamethrower. Dean was really starting to like the feel of the flamethrower gun, and wondered if maybe they should take it out of reservation for Wendigos and use it for other things. Then he thought about how bad burning hair would smell if it was used on a werewolf, and changed his mind.

"Keep an eye out," Dean told Petra quietly as they entered the top floor of the warehouse. "You said the boss is up here?"

"Yes," Petra replied. "Most likely the most experienced and dangerous."

"Alright, stay behind me. I'll –"

 _"Delete!"_

Dean turned, eyes widening at the fact a large, clunky robot had managed to sneak up on him. He fumbled for the trigger of the flamethrower, but the Cyberman raised its hand, knocking it out of Dean's grip. The flamethrower went sliding across the floor.

Dean raised his shotgun, firing directly against the Cyberman and hissing in pain as a few pieces of the shell ricocheted off the metal and tore through Dean's coat. Dean couldn't think about that though, as the Cyberman grabbed him by his throat, lifting him into the air.

"You are compatible," the Cyberman said. "You will be upgraded."

"Petra, what's it doing?!" Dean exclaimed, trying to pry the metal fingers from his throat.

"It wants to cut out your brain and implant it into a Cyberman body," she called calmly as she raced towards the flamethrower.

"It wants to _what?!_ " His eyes widened as the Cyberman lifted its other hand and a wickedly sharp circular saw extended from it. The saw began to spin. _"Petra!"_

As the saw got closer, Dean squeezed his eyes closed, hoping it would at least be over quickly. There was the sharp blast of the flamethrower just in time, and the sizzling sound of melting metal. The fist holding Dean in the air released him as the Cyberman's head slowly melted into a pile of goop and red-hot melted metal. Dean landed on his feet, stumbling backwards, as Petra released the trigger. The headless Cyberman stayed standing in place for a moment, before powering down – what was left of it – and falling over.

Petra and Dean stood over it, staring down at it as the melted pool of metal cooled.

"Thanks," Dean said, rubbing his throat. "That thing almost took my brain."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it would have taken a least another few minutes to get through that thick head of yours," Petra said innocently.

Dean glanced at her sideways. "Did you just make a joke?"

"I think so. Was it funny?"

"Little bit, yeah."

"Oh, goody then." She bent down, frowning as she examined the desecrated metal body. "I could salvage quite a bit from these . . ." she began to mutter.

"Later," Dean said, looking around. "We came to find Missy, remember?"

"Unless Missy finds you first," came the playful yet annoyed Scottish lilt from behind them. Dean and Petra spun around, holding up their weapons, and Missy held her hands up.

"Oh, please, you took out _my_ last line of defense," the Time-Lady snorted, glancing at the melted Cyberman. "Poor dear." She glanced at Petra. " _You're_ very brave to come wandering in here."

"You're pretty stupid for staying in town," Dean retorted.

"I figured you'd be coming to ask for my help sooner or later," Missy sang, but blinked in surprise when she released Dean was leveling a revolver at her chest.

Dean pulled the hammer back. "Too bad we didn't come to ask for your help," he said coldly as he squeezed the trigger.


	50. Chapter 50

Missy had immediately squeezed her eyes shut when Dean pulled the trigger, and was hoping this death would be much quicker and less painful than her last few. Even as the shot rang out throughout the warehouse, though, she felt no pain, and she was pretty sure she wasn't dying. Cautiously, she opened one eye, then another. They widened when she realized Dean hadn't shot her, nor had he ever intended too – instead, the vortex manipulator that had been fastened to her wrist mere moments ago was in pieces on the floor.

"Nice shot," Petra muttered to Dean.

"My vortex manipulator!" Missy cried, eyes wide at the smoking, sparking pile of parts. "Oh, I'd rather you would have just shot _me_! Have you any idea how difficult it is to find one of these?!"

Dean lowered the smoking pistol. "Yeah, I do. Looks like you're stuck here."

Missy glared at him. "What do you want?"

"We need to know where we can find Rowena."

"Fine. She's –"

"We need to know where we can find Rowena _without_ Amara."

Missy pursed her lips. "Hmph. Don't know why you're scared. You're the one Amara wants, after all."

"Just tell me."

Missy crossed her arms. "I thought you didn't come here to ask for my help."

"We didn't," Dean retorted. "We came here to _make_ you help. Tell us where to find Rowena and we'll be on our way."

"I can assure you, Rowena is the last person you want to be near right now. She's furious with the lot of you. Wants all of you dead, especially Lucifer. To go to her would be to commit suicide."

"Lady, I don't got all day," Dean said impatiently.

"No, but now thanks to you, I certainly do," Missy retorted, taking another sad look at the vortex manipulator.

"Missy," Dean snapped.

"Why should you want to find her anyway?" Missy narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to kill her?"

"We're not gonna kill her," Dean sighed in exhaustion.

"Why ever not?" Missy asked, pacing towards the window and glancing out of it. Dean's finger twitched on his gun, uneasy. "She's certainly warranted reason for you to want to kill her. She slaughtered an entire hotel full of people, conspired with Lucifer, tried to kill this one," she turned, giving a nod at Petra. "So you must be very desperate to need her."

"It's complicated," Petra said.

"Complicated?" Missy snorted. "Building the Roman aqueduct was complicated. Alexander the Great, _he_ was complicated. Rowena isn't complicated. She's incredibly simple – she wants power. But people get in her way, so she gets rid of them. People betray her, she gets angry. When Lucifer betrayed her to protect your little party, she said . . . oh, what was it? 'Go big or go home', I think."

"Do you ever shut up?" Dean huffed, rolling his eyes.

"So that's why she's with Amara now?" Petra asked. She frowned. "Why aren't you?"

"Rowena likes chaos. I like chaos. But Amara . . ." Missy tsked, sitting on the windowsill. "Amara wants destruction. I quite like Earth, you see. I've grown fond of it, especially as of late. There are vicious animals and _peaches_. Did you know Earth is the only planet you can get peaches on?"

"So you ditched them?" Dean chuckled at the irony. "You're not scared of Rowena?"

"Rowena thinks I blew up in that little bonfire," Missy waved her hand. "She was becoming very intense. She wouldn't even let me kill you!" she said in annoyance, pointing at Petra, and Dean's finger twitched again. "It was all 'codex this' and 'revenge that'. I hate to admit it, but I do have a very short attention span. It got old. So as far as Rowena knows, I'm dead."

"Then you don't know where she is," Dean said. "So I can just shoot you."

"I never said I didn't know where she is," Missy continued, examining her nails.

"Go ahead and shoot her, Dean," Petra glared, getting annoyed.

"No problem," Dean agreed.

"Hold on!" Missy exclaimed, holding her hands up. "I do know where she is. And I will tell you where she is – on one condition."

"Shocker," Dean said sarcastically.

"There's something here on Earth that I need," Missy continued. "Something important to me. If I tell you where to find the witch, you have to find this object for me."

"Why can't you find it yourself?" Petra asked, half out of curiosity and half out of annoyance.

"I have a lot going on, and the journey to obtain the object will be . . . challenging," Missy replied.

"We don't have time for any scavenger hunting," Dean retorted.

"I assure you, I'm willing to wait until all this nasty end-of-the-earth business is taken care of," Missy said, leaning forward. "It's a fair deal. I tell you what you want to know and you help me."

Petra and Dean glanced at each other. It was risky as hell, but at the same time, it would be easy just to go along with it and get their information without any bloodshed. Besides, Petra and Dean had seen their fair share of crazy things – how hard could Missy's request be?

"So," Missy said, smiling. "Do we have a deal?"

* * *

"Missy just gave you Rowena's location? Just like that?"

Clara was surprised. Missy was notoriously tricky, and to just hand over valuable information wasn't the norm for her.

It was the next morning, and everyone had arrived back to the bunker safely. Dean was currently sitting at the table, a cup of black coffee in front of him. Sam was finally getting some sleep, and Clara intended to allow him to stay that way for a while. The Doctor was flipping through some books on Sam and Dean's shelf as he waited for River to finish some calibrations in the TARDIS.

"We had to bargain a bit," Dean said, yawning and scratching the back of his head. "She said she'd give us the info if we helped her find something."

"What?" the Doctor frowned, now intrigued.

"She didn't say," Dean shrugged, taking a drink of coffee. "Just gave us a set of coordinates. Oh, uh, and this thing." He reached for his dufflebag, which he had thrown on the table the night before, shortly before collapsing into bed, and unzipped it. He withdrew a long, heavy sash made of golden material. Clara frowned and examined it for a moment before the Doctor quickly moved across the room, taking it and running his hand over it. His large brows furrowed together.

"The Sash of Rassilon," he frowned, complexed by the appearance of the fabric. "I haven't seen this is years." He lifted it, sniffing it, before his frown deepened. He slid his sonic sunglasses on, scanning the sash as he continued. "If Missy gave you this she must be after an eye."

"An eye?" Clara raised her eyebrows.

"Eye of Harmony," Doctor muttered, lifting and turning the sash.

Clara looked surprised. "But the Eye is in your TARDIS," she argued. "I saw it myself."

"There is more than one Eye, of course, but they're incredibly rare," the Doctor continued, taking his glasses off and laying the sash on the table.

"What would Missy need an Eye of Harmony for?" Clara mused.

"Whatever the reason may be, she won't be able to control it," the Doctor continued. "Not without the Rod of Rassilon. And the Rod has been missing for years, it was stolen and then disappeared."

"What is this Eye thing?" Dean frowned.

"The Eye of Harmony is a power source of extreme proportion," the Doctor explained.

"Which is why he has one in his TARDIS," Clara added.

"But if they're not used properly, it could be disastrous," the Doctor continued with a pointed glance at his companion. "Whatever Missy means to do with it, it's not good."

"But it's like you said," Clara replied, glancing at the Doctor. "Missy can't use it without the Rod."

"I need to do some looking into this," the Doctor said, casting another look at the sash. "For now, though, you have the information you need. So, shall we go witch hunting?"

Clara and Dean exchanged hesitant looks.

"It's now or never," Clara sighed.

Dean nodded and stood. "I'll wake the others."

* * *

Rowena sat at the table in the basement of the warehouse. It was a dank, moldy place, covered in graffiti and dust. A rat scuttled across the rafters, stopping once to scratch the fleas from its mangy body. It was a disgusting hole of a place, but it was the only place she was safe.

Rowena sat with her head in her hands, heart racing. Things were becoming too serious. Amara was dangerous . . . and here she was helping her. The end of the world was coming . . . why hadn't Rowena stopped for a moment to realize that the end of the world meant the end of her?

"If you've come to mock me, Dean, you can save your breath," Rowena said icily, not even bothering to turn around.

"I oughta kill you and just be done with it," the Winchester replied, stepping out of the shadows.

"Then do it," Rowena chuckled bitterly. "Better to go now than wait for the world to become a black hole of Amara's own creation." She stood, not putting any pressure on her left leg as she turned to face Dean, revealing a large bruise spreading across her face.

"Who busted you up?" Dean asked, not really caring. _Bitch deserves it._

"Amara has a temper," Rowena remarked, limping forward a bit before grimacing and holding onto the table. "She doesn't like being disagreed with, and she doesn't appreciate suggestions."

"Well," Dean said, looking her up and down. "Karma's a bitch, bitch." _Classic_.

Rowena arched an eyebrow. "How'd you get in here?"

Dean lifted his wrist, revealing a bulky accessory. Rowena scoffed.

"Vortex Manipulation," she snorted. " _Fake_ magic. I imagine you got that from _him_? The Doctor?" she practically sneered his name.

"River Song," Dean corrected. "You've probably heard of her."

"Nope," Rowena retorted. "Never heard of that blonde hackit whore. What do you want?"

"Look at you, Rowena. You're scared outta your mind. You know Amara's bad news, that's why you're hiding down here."

"You're here to try and sway me towards helping you?" Rowena laughed bitterly. "I'd rather watch the world burn than help you. Any of you."

"We thought you might say that."

The groaning, wheezing sound of the TARDIS filled the room, light blinking in and out of existence until it was a consistent shining beacon. The TARDIS finished materializing, and Rowena sighed, closing her eyes for a long moment. "Hell's bells," she whispered in exhaustion as the door creaked open.


	51. Chapter 51

Every time Rowena saw the Doctor, he had a different face.

The first time, he'd been older. A short man, with black hair and dark eyes, running around with a young Scottish boy. He'd been a pain in her arse then, too – after releasing several pigs (formerly villagers that had angered Rowena) from a slaughtering pen, he'd run onto the gallows and revealed that the one being charged with witchcraft (a neighboring woman Rowena had spent a lot of time framing) was innocent, the villagers put two and two together and discovered it was Rowena who was the true witch. They exiled Rowena, chasing her away, and she left everything behind – her home, her belongings, and even her own wee son.

As if that weren't enough, she then encountered the Doctor again. She hadn't know it was him at first – he was a different man from before, this one a eccentric looking fellow with a long, colorful scarf and eyes mad with excitement. He caught Rowena – then living as a rich noblewoman in France – practicing spells on some local street urchins. Rowena knew if he blew her cover, she'd have to give up her lavish lifestyle. Instead, she waited until he confronted her – along with a mousy woman and a metal dog, of all things – and then she attacked. But the Doctor was evasive. She attempted a simple spell, something to make their deaths look like an accident. She'd thrown the woman from the window, and attempted to stop the Doctors heart.

Rowena had been expecting there to be two.

Underestimating the Doctor proved to be a mistake. In her attempt to flee, a lantern had been knocked over, and flames billowed up the curtains. Rowena made her escape using the flames and smoke as her cover, only to find the Doctor's companion emerge from a blue box, unharmed. Rowena had desperately wanted to investigate, as she remembered seeing that same box once before.

She spent the next several hundred years or so in hiding. In this time, she learned of the Doctor, and who he really was. Rowena had considered taking revenge, but ultimately decided to lay low.

But then, of course, he showed up once more. Rowena was making a name for herself in the Coven. People were beginning to fear her, to respect her – it wouldn't be long before she had the whole thing under her control. Then, she saw it. The blue box.

The Doctor was younger this time. He was tall, with short, cropped hair and a blonde girl he seemed absolutely enamored with. They were sneaking around the Coven, and Rowena was unable to hide or escape. She confronted them.

The Doctor had been a fool. Foolish enough to offer to help Rowena. She'd laughed him off, claiming she wasn't the one who needed help. But Rowena didn't attempt to kill him – she wanted that box, and she knew she'd have to go through him to get it.

He took her bait, following her into the Coven, where eleven witches were prepared to spring their trap. The Doctor was captured easily, and Rowena was filled with pride as her fellow witches praised her. The Doctor had been unusually calm as they prepared to dissect him, but Rowena had been sure she'd finally won.

She hadn't been counting on the blonde.

The little prat had come crashing through the window, startling the witches as she stumbled to stand up.

"R-right!" she'd said, holding up an odd looking weapon that she didn't seem to know how to use. "Now, I don't know what this does, but Jack says it'll put a decent sized hole in anything. So – don't move!"

Instead of praising his rescuer, the Doctor had scolded the girl, chastising her using a weapon, and the two began to banter right in the midst of danger.

It was here the witches discovered magic didn't work on time travelers. With wide eyes, the witches retreated as quickly as they could. Rowena had angrily shoved the blonde aside in an attempt to get to the box before they could. She needed a distraction, however – she was so desperate for the box, she didn't care who she had to go through to get to it. So she did something that would eventually be her downfall.

She cast the attack dog spell on three of the fleeing witches. As the witches went rabid with rage, attacking the girl and the Doctor, Rowena made her escape. She found the box easily, and wasn't surprised it was locked. However, she was enraged to find the lock magic proof – without the key, she couldn't get in.

She faced off with the Doctor, who was disgusted and distraught that Rowena would sentence her own coven members to death the way she had. Knowing she'd been beat – again – Rowena's anger got the better of her. She threw every spell she had at them, despite them not working, cursing them and berating them as they ran.

She'd never seen them again. Until now.

Missy had told her all about the Doctor. Everything. But even still, he was an unwelcome sight as he stepped through the door of the TARDIS.

"If you think I'll be intimidated into helping whatever harebrained scheme you've come up with," she began, balling up her fists in anger. "Then you'll be disappointed."

"Oh, you'll hear us out," The Doctor replied.

"You?" Rowena hissed, spinning to look at him. "No. Never. After the things you've done to me, I would rather watch the world burn. And you with it."

"Jesus, do you ever stop talking?" Dean rolled his eyes. "You're gonna help us."

"You'll force me too," Rowena retorted, narrowing her eyes. "Clara, yes? That's what you're going to do? Have her boss me around and do as you say?"

"No," Dean said, looking amused. "We're not idiots. You said it yourself, you'd rather kill yourself than help up. You'll help us because you want to."

"Not interested."

Dean nodded, not surprised, before retreating to the TARDIS. Rowena watched warily as he returned a few moments later, a sleek iPad in his hand. He held it out to Rowena. She glanced at it, and then at him, frowning. "What's this?" she demanded.

Dean looked annoyed to be handing it over. "It's Charlie's decoder," he said reluctantly. "All of her notes and translations." He sneered at the spark in Rowena's eyes as she looked at the tablet. "Yeah, that's right. All that power you wanted."

Rowena swallowed, reaching out slowly.

Dean suddenly snatched it back. "Then again," he considered. "That power would be pretty useless when the world is – what'd you call it? A black hole of the world burning? Wouldn't you say, Doc?"

"Very useless indeed," the Doctor replied casually, hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes locked on Rowena. "What use is a book of spells when there's no world left to use them in?"

"You've made your point," Rowena snapped, eyes on the tablet. She hesitated. "What's the plan?" she broke down and asked.

"We're busting Michael out of the cage," Dean said, and Rowena raised her eyebrows. "We've already got a vessel and the ingredients, we just need someone strong enough to get the Cage open and Michael out."

Rowena considered it. This was a stupid idea. She'd been fighting the Doctor for years, Clara wore the ring, and no way was Dean going to let Rowena get away after what she'd done to his girlfriend. Still, if she had the proper materials, and could convince Dean to sweeten the deal . . .

With a sigh of defeat, she closed her eyes. "Damn Winchesters," she cried under her breath. She looked up at Dean, knowing he'd won. "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

Clara lay in the darkness of the room, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and she played through a thousand different scenarios of how tomorrow was going to turn out.

Raising an arch angel from the cage was no easy task.

They'd held off for a day, Rowena claiming that she needed to rest and prepare in order to perform such a spell. Clara was okay with that. She knew a storm was brewing, and things were about to go into overload all at once, so she was perfectly content to take these moments and spend them wrapped in the warm arms of Sam Winchester.

He must have sensed her restlessness, as he pulled her closer and kissing her hair.

"After this is over," Clara started quietly, laying against him. "If you could go anywhere, any place at all . . . where would it be?"

"Honestly?" he considered for a moment. "Probably this bed. Right here, with you."

Clara grinned, propping herself up to look at him in the dim light. "A whole universe full of opportunities and you go with that chat-up line?"

He grinned, toying with her hair. "Alright, Miss Oswald," he continued. "Where would you go?"

She settled back against him, going through a mental list of all of the places she'd been, and where she'd want to go again – especially with Sam at her side.

"There's this planet," she began. "In the Haldstrom system. There are all of these fields of luminescent grass, and at night the pollen makes everything glow, the trees, the mountains, even the animals. If you run through the fields, even the _air_ glows. There's a huge, year-round market, hundreds of miles long, and there are all sorts of races and people. It's always peaceful; everyone trades, and gets along. We didn't stay there long, the Doctor said it was too boring for him, but . . . I could use a little boring right about now." She sat up again, looking at Sam. "We should go. Once we deal with Amara and get rid of Lucifer, let's just go. Let's jump from planet to planet and never stop."

Sam grinned, amused. "How's the Doctor going to feel about using his TARDIS to chauffer us around?"

"We'll steal it if we have to," Clara teased mischievously, and Sam laughed, pulling her to him to lay a gentle, lingering kiss on her lips. He pulled away after a moment, stroking her hair and staring into those huge brown eyes he adored so much.

"You want to go planet hopping, let's go planet hopping," he agreed. "I'd follow you anywhere. I'd follow you to the moon if I had too."

Clara grimaced. "Not the moon," she said, wrinkling her nose up. "Bad memories."

Sam laughed again, unsure as to rather or not she was serious, and kissed her again. Clara sighed happily, laying her hands against his face.

"Mm." She frowned, pulling away. "Sam, you're burning up," she said, laying her hand on his forehead. "Your fever's back again. I thought that would stop once Lucifer stopped sending you the visions."

 _Go ahead,_ Lucifer whispered in the back of Sam's mind. _Tell her how weak you really are. Tell her what'll happen to you if she does decide to get rid of me._

Sam set his jaw in a straight line, and then faked a smile. "It's just really warm in here," he said, kissing her forehead. "I feel fine. How about some air, huh?"

"Sure," Clara said, looking unconvinced but standing and turning the ceiling fan on. She curled back up in bed, watching him carefully. "You know you can tell me anything. Right?"

"Of course," Sam promised. "Really, I'm okay. I'm just worried about tomorrow."

"Well, no point in getting worked up over it. I guess we'd both better get some rest," Clara admitted, laying back down. They linked fingers, and Clara closed her eyes as Sam stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

"I bet you'd just love to run away from earth," Lucifer commented, growing steadily louder. "No demons blood in space, eh, Sammy? No angels, no demons, no witches, no problems. Sounds too good to be true, huh? Just you, all that open space, and Clara."

Sam suppressed an annoyed sigh and closed his eyes, concentrating on sleeping, focusing on Clara's soft breathes beside him.

"Too bad she'll be dead soon."

Sam opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, and accepting that he wasn't going to be getting any sleep that night.

* * *

River had a hard time even attempting to try to sleep when she knew there was something wrong with the Doctor.

And she _always_ knew.

She tied her dressing gown over her silk pajamas and left her room on board the TARDIS, weaving in and out of hallways and passages, her bare feet quiet against the cool mental floor. It didn't take her long to find the Doctor in the library, sitting at a desk and pouring over books. Hundreds of them were stacked around him, and River didn't even have to glance at the titles to know they were all lore on demons.

"Sweetie," she sighed after a moment of watching him flip through the pages.

"River," he greeted her, not looking up from her books. "Can't sleep?"

She smiled, a bit sadly. "No. Doctor, even you need to rest sometimes."

"No I don't, of course I don't," he murmured, turning another page. River approached, leaning over him and gently closing the book. The Doctor sat up straighter, staring off into the distance for a few long moments before going to sit on some stairs, resting his head in his hands.

River suppressed a sigh as she went to sit beside him, folding her hands in her lap and sitting there, just being a comforting, familiar presence.

"There has to be something," he muttered after a moment, looking up. "Anything."

"You can't save everyone, my love," River said sadly.

"Everyone, more like anyone," the Doctor replied bitterly. "Now Clara, before that Amy and Rory –"

"Made their own choice," River finished gently, folding her hands over his

" – and you," the Doctor finished, looking at her. River tried for a small smile. "I couldn't save you from the library, River, I'm so sorry."

"Hush," she told him, squeezing his hands. "It was worth it."

"River . . ." The Doctor looked her in the eyes. "How did you come back, where did you come from?"

River tried for another smile. "Spoilers," she replied simply.

"Your diary, where is it?"

"There isn't one."

"There's always one."

"Doctor . . ." River gazed at him, her expression a mixture of pain and affection. She shook her head. "Not this time."

"Are you real?"

"Yes."

"River . . ." he started again. He stared off into the library, unable to make himself look at her. "Is this it for us?"

She blinked a few times, willing the tears to stay back as she swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "Yes," she whispered.

He nodded, having already known the answer, and held her hands tighter. River hid the pain in her face by laying her head on his shoulder, sharing in his grief and worry, and just being there – even if it was for one last time.


End file.
